


Through the Window, Darkly

by Sunnyskywalker



Series: Lilyverse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Magic, First War with Voldemort, Gen, enemies working toward a common purpose, secrets and lies, untrustworthy allies, when in doubt go to the library
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23507434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnyskywalker/pseuds/Sunnyskywalker
Summary: On Halloween night, Lily jumps out the window with Harry and Apparates them away. But escaping Voldemort's Killing Curse doesn't lead to safety. Voldemort is still after Harry. Everyone, it seems, has been keeping secrets from her. To protect Harry and defeat Voldemort for good, she'll have to uncover those secrets--with the help of allies she's no longer sure she can trust. And with the help of her estranged friend, the Death Eater Severus Snape.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Lily Evans Potter, Albus Dumbledore & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter & Lily Evans Potter, Lily Evans Potter & Horace Slughorn, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape, Petunia Evans Dursley & Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & Severus Snape
Series: Lilyverse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691440
Comments: 293
Kudos: 105





	1. The Woman Who Lived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily and Harry narrowly escape Voldemort--and run into Severus Snape, who offers some disturbing revelations.

If Harry didn’t fall asleep soon, Lily thought she might honestly lose her mind. Living in hiding had been bad enough, but now that they’d cast the Fidelius Charm, they’d lost even the hope of leaving the house for who knew how long. Harry had fussed all day, and James hadn’t been much better. Like usual. Somehow she’d got stuck with the job of keeping them both calm—never mind that she felt just as irritable. Why couldn’t James have let her put Harry to bed after his bath instead of carrying him off to play and getting him too excited to sleep?

“There, Mummy has your dragon! Now you’re ready for bed!” Lily set the stuffed dragon next to Harry, who grinned toothily and reached for her.

“I know you want to play, but it’s time to rest so you can have more fun tomorrow. Don’t you want your dragon? Here’s your lion too!”

Just five minutes and she could finally get some sleep. Ugh, no, James wouldn’t be ready for bed yet. He’d insist on “doing something fun because it’s Halloween.” Sleep probably shouldn’t sound so much more appealing than spending time with her husband. When had she last had a full night’s sleep? Shouldn’t Harry have stopped waking so often by this age?

Harry’s arms remained stubbornly in the air. He was such a determined child, so like James. Sometimes that didn’t seem like such a good thing. She sighed and picked him up.

Downstairs, the front door banged open.

“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run!” James shouted.

Her heart stopped. She reached for her wand—

_Where’s my wand? I left my wand downstairs next to the tub!_

“I’ll hold him off—”

“Avada Kedavra!”

_No no no._

She grabbed Harry and dashed to the door. The ribbon they’d turned into an emergency Portkey was tied around a hook on the back—

—only it wasn’t there.

Lily looked around frantically, sure there must be a mistake. Maybe it had fallen. It must have fallen. Why couldn’t she find it?

Peter, she realized. If Voldemort was here, Peter must have betrayed them. And first, he’d stolen the Portkey.

No Portkey. No wand. Anti-Apparition enchantments on the house. They were trapped.

If she dragged the chest of drawers in front of the door, she could… die thirty seconds later.

Would You-Know-Who spare Harry if she didn’t fight? Maybe if she screamed and begged enough to entertain him, he wouldn’t bother with Harry. It might be her son’s only hope.

For a terrible moment, Lily felt relieved. At least the long nightmare would be over. No more hiding and waiting to die.

Motion caught her eye. It was the picture of Harry in James’s arms at the park, a lifetime ago when they still went into the village. Behind them, blurred children on swings laughed. Lily’s chest constricted as she realized Harry would never go on the swings himself. It was too cruel.

Wait. There might be a way out. _Just like the swings back home._ Was it even possible? She had to try. For Harry.

Lily ran to the window. It was narrow, but tall enough. She fumbled with the latch. Harry bawled when the freezing draft struck him. She held him tightly and climbed onto the sill, wobbling and clutching the frame with her free hand to keep from tumbling down when Harry squirmed. If this didn’t work, they might dash their brains out on the garden wall.

Better to die that way than at _his_ hand.

The nursery door burst open just as she leapt out the window as far as she could and spun in midair.

_The park the park the park at home –_

“Avada—”

The world around them contracted. Then it was back, far too close below them. _Slowly slowly like down on the wind just float down float down—_

She managed to land on her back, between Harry and the ground, barely hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Harry threw up on her shoulder.

_Oh, gross, and without my wand to clean up._

“There, there, it’s okay now, you’re okay,” she said through chattering teeth, patting his back. Harry buried his face in her hair and wailed. _He’ll be such a mess_ , she thought, dimly noting that fixating on such a detail was probably a sign of shock.

Poor thing, he must be freezing. And she didn’t have her wand to cast a Warming Charm or a cloak to wrap him in. She looked up, hoping for a sheltered corner to hide in while she gathered her thoughts.

They weren’t alone. He was here, sitting on the swing, mouth partly open, body almost invisible in his black cloak in the dark. But she would know that silhouette anywhere.

“Sev?” It seemed natural that he would be here somehow.

“Lily! What’s happened? Are you hurt?” He stumbled over and knelt beside them. “Lumos!”

“Harry’s sick from Apparating.”

Stringing thoughts together was hard. The world had narrowed to Harry in her arms and a dim tunnel in front of her with Sev at the end. She patted the sobbing Harry’s back by instinct.

Sev cleaned Harry’s mess and bundled his cloak around Lily’s shoulders before she had quite realized what was happening. Harry’s cries subsided to a whimper.

“He found us,” she managed after realizing that he’d asked again what happened. “James… James is….” Her throat caught, and she felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. _No. Don’t think of it. You can’t fall apart. You have to think of Harry._

“What? Dumbledore promised he would keep you safe! How could he have let this happen?”

Her stomach lurched. “We were betrayed.”

“Black.” Sev’s lip curled. “I knew it.”

“No, Peter. Sirius was never the real Secret-Keeper. Oh shh, Harry, Mummy’s got you, everything’s going to be okay,” she said desperately as Harry started to cry again. “Look, I’ll make you bubbles and—” Her right hand closed on empty air, and panic started her trembling again. “My wand, I don’t have my wand!”

“Here, take mine,” Sev said, shoving his well-worn hawthorn into her hand.

Her fingers closed automatically around it, and at once her mind started working again. She Conjured a cloak and a sling for Harry and cast a Bounty of Bubbles Charm, which distracted him enough that he only sniffled, thank goodness.

Sev was barely visible in the near-moonless dark, just a pale gash of a face above his awkward frame.

“What are you doing here? Ouch, Harry, that’s Mummy’s hair.”

He shrugged, hunching over so his hair half-hid his face, just like when they were in school. “Dumbledore excused me as soon as the feast ended. As it’s an astrologically significant date, he told me leave the grounds in case I should be needed for outside duties. He hasn’t sent a Patronus, so evidently no one’s blown up the dungeons yet.”

“You’re in the Order? Since when? Wait, what do you mean about the feast? Why are you staying at Hogwarts?”

“I’m more of an… outside contractor. Which means I wasn’t invited to that ill-advised photo session, thank Merlin. I can’t imagine why Moody allowed it. And now that Slughorn’s retired I’ve been hired as Potions Master, if you can believe it.”

Giggles were entirely inappropriate. She knew that, intellectually. James was—but they just slipped out. Harry giggled along with her, still reaching for the golden bubbles. “You’re _teaching?_ Sev, that’s…” Oh, it was a good thing they had missed that notice in the _Prophet_. James would have exploded.

That thought sent a fresh stab of pain into her chest. James would never know, now.

“I know. I keep hoping I’m going to wake up.” He bit his lip. “We should get you safely inside the castle. The Dark Lord won’t have given up trying to kill the child of prophecy just because you escaped his first attempt.”

“Child of—what prophecy? What are you talking about?”

Sev stared at her. “Dumbledore didn’t tell you about the prophecy? Why did you think the Dark Lord was after the boy, then?”

“He’s after _Harry?_ ” She instinctively clutched Harry tighter. He burbled quietly in response, calmer now that he was warm. Oh, God. If she’d tried to distract You-Know-Who by sacrificing herself, she’d only have made it easier for him to kill Harry. “All we know is that we’ve been fighting him and now he’s after us.” _But it isn’t “we” anymore..._ She forced that thought to the back of her mind. “What prophecy?”

Sev paused. “He must have thought it safer… maybe he thought P—one of you would be tempted to meddle, which could be deadly…” He looked up. “You should know. But be careful. You can’t outwit a prophecy. Take it as information about the Dark Lord’s intentions, and only as that.”

“I can’t take it as anything if you don’t tell me!” she snapped.

He inhaled deeply. “I only heard the beginning—Dumbledore must have cast an Imperturbable Charm on the door, and then Aberforth found me on the stairs and didn’t believe I was there to apply for a job like the Trelawney woman. What I heard was, ‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.’ Why he thinks that indicates an infant born in July rather than a currently-travelling adult who was born in September or in the seventh month after an event only referred to in the rest of the prophecy, I have no idea. Lily, I am _so_ sorry. About everything. I can’t tell you how—please, tell me how I can help.” He said it all in a rush, as if the words had been building up inside him for months, waiting to bowl her over with insight and concern.

But Lily’s mind was finally catching up. This wasn’t her best friend Sev, meeting her in a deserted corner of the school to experiment with jinxes and carp about their teachers and fellow students. This was Severus Snape, friend of Death Eaters.

Or more than friend. She clutched her— _his_ —wand more tightly, her palm suddenly sweaty on the unfamiliar grip, and looked at him, really looked for the first time tonight. He was taller than she remembered, and even by wandlight she thought he looked crueler, harder. “How did You-Know-Who hear the prophecy?” She could Apparate to the library four blocks away; they wouldn’t expect that. Then she could message Dumbledore and get to a fireplace.

The question seemed to catch him by surprise. “Dumbledore told me to tell him,” he stammered.

“Really.”

“Really. If he’d just Obliviated me instead, none of this would have happened!” He twitched, obviously realizing how damning that sounded.

“And how could you get a private audience with You-Know-Who? You’re one of them, aren’t you? You finally got what you wanted! IT’S YOUR FAULT JAMES IS DEAD!” She raised the wand at him, her face hot and her eyes prickling with tears. Harry, startled, screamed too.

Sev jumped back, his right hand going to his sleeve and finding nothing. Lily felt a savage exultation. Let him know what it felt like to be helpless. He wouldn’t get away with his crimes.

But then he dropped his hands to his sides and looked at her with an expression of utter resignation. “Go ahead. I deserve it.”

That bastard. Did he think she’d torture a helpless enemy the way his kind did? In front of her sobbing baby son? Murder him with the Killing Curse like his master had done to so many innocent people? _Murdered like James._ “Is that why you joined, so you could finally get back at James for good? Is revenge everything you dreamed of?”

“I had no idea he’d think the prophecy was about you! I thought it was a load of bollocks that might get me killed for bothering him with it, even if I almost hoped it was real and he would be arrogant enough to—But I never would have put you in danger. Lily, you have to know that. Never!”

“You’re a liar and a murderer!” Was there really a prophecy? Was he really teaching at Hogwarts? Yeah, right. But he did know about the Patronus messages… But Peter must have told You-Know-Who…

“I was hoping to defect to Dumbledore that night, and as soon as I knew you were in danger I did. Once I saw what he really was—and when he went after you—”

“You’re probably devastated he didn’t get me too. One less mudblood in the world, isn’t that right?”

“It was never _about_ that! You know I don’t believe that rubbish! Lily, I—how could I possibly think that? You were my _best friend_.”

The wandlight turned his face into a pale jack-o-lantern with glinting dark eyes. He’d joined You-Know-Who. He’d as good as killed James himself. He’d nearly killed her and Harry.

“You were never mine.” ( _Not true_ , said a tiny voice in the back of her mind, but it was the least of the pain he deserved.)

Sev flinched. He recovered quickly, though, his face now mask-like, impassive. “We’ve lingered here too long. You had better get to safety. Keep the wand. I’ll inform Dumbledore of… everything.”

Sure he would. “Then _go_ ,” she snarled.

He looked at her searchingly, but she met his gaze with all the hatred she could muster. He looked down, spun, and disappeared with a crack.

Good riddance.

She took a deep, steadying breath, and started patting Harry’s back again to calm him. They couldn’t stay here. He would be back—no doubt with company. She had to think.

Not the library. Not anywhere else in Cokeworth. The gutless traitor knew her old haunts too well. Not to the gates of Hogwarts, either. He and his friends might be lying in ambush for her. Maybe Aberforth…

It was risky. Peter and Sev had already betrayed her, and of course anyone might be under the Imperius Curse. But she had to get to Dumbledore, to safety.

Lily Disillusioned them both, cast a Silencing Charm on Harry to hush his inevitable cries, and spun on her heel.

#

The alley behind the Hog’s Head was always dark, and especially so tonight with only a quarter-moon in the sky. The crash of a bin lid betrayed that it wasn’t empty.

“Who’s there?”

It sounded like Aberforth, at least from what she remembered, and the shadow looked the right size. Lily hugged Harry tight to keep him from falling (poor thing, writhing and silently screaming his lungs out) and pictured the first moment she’d ever held him. Her Patronus shot out. She quickly spun and Apparated halfway down the alley, hoping the _cracks_ of departure and arrival would be close enough together that the first would cover the second.

The shadow straightened up. “Right.” A silver goat cantered straight to her.

Lily crept closer.

“Hurry up, girl, someone might be out any moment. Have you sent one to my brother yet? Come on, up the stairs.” Aberforth waved her in. She chose not to answer, scurrying up as quickly as she could. The stairs creaked so loudly that her heart nearly stopped. Surely everyone in the pub had heard.

He ushered her into a tiny sitting room, shabby except for a framed portrait of a blonde girl in Victorian clothing, which seemed oddly twee for Aberforth.

 _Focusing on irrelevant details again. Definitely shock._ She removed the Disillusionment, but not Harry’s Silencing Charm.

“I need to get to Dumbledore’s office—your brother’s office—right away.” Then they would be safe. Dumbledore would know what to do.

As if her wish had summoned him, Dumbledore’s face appeared in the fire. “Aberforth? Be on the lookout for—ah, but I see she’s already here!” He stepped out of the fireplace. “My dear, I am so sorry about James. Thank Merlin you and young Harry are safe.”

Dumbledore looked stern, belying his comforting words, and his eyes had lost their usual twinkle. Things really must be dire. Lily’s legs wobbled.

“If you could tell me exactly what happened—”

“Albus, at least let the girl catch her breath before you interrogate her!” Aberforth waved his wand and a chair caught her just as her legs gave out.

“Of course, you’re quite right. Why don’t we get you back to my office for a cup of cocoa.”

Harry squirmed in her arms, whimpering silently. Harry. Sev said he overheard a prophecy in the Hog’s Head. A prophecy about Harry. It couldn’t be true.

She had to know. “Was You-Know-Who really after Harry? Because of a prophecy?”

Dumbledore’s wand hand twitched. He glanced at Aberforth before replying. “It seems that you and Severus had a longer conversation than he reported. I deeply regret that you had to hear about the prophecy this way.”

“No one would have had to hear anything if you’d just let me Obliviate the boy when I caught him snooping,” Aberforth snapped.

“I believed he understood the danger and would keep silent on his own. I was very sorry to have been mistaken, but I truly believed he would make the right choice.”

“Bollocks.” Aberforth clenched his fists, his expression pure fury. “You told him to tell the Dark Lord and you know it. ‘I do hope your current employer will find this evening’s events of interest,’ you said, but that’s what you meant. Bet you hoped he’d destroy himself trying to tangle with the prophecy. Another one of your brilliant plans!”

Their voices were far away, and she was cold, so cold. It couldn’t be true. Her shaking arms barely caught Harry when he squirmed out of the sling.

“This is hardly the time, Aberforth. I need to take Lily and Harry to safety in the castle.” Dumbledore hurled a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and twirled his wand in an absurdly complicated pattern. Right. He had to deactivate the security charms protecting his office and hide their trip from the Ministry. “Hogwarts, Headmaster’s office. Come along, Lily.” He guided her forward by the elbow.

“Be careful, girl,” Aberforth said as she walked into the flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it was Swythyv who suggested that one factor behind Lily’s panicked shrieking was that they _had_ an escape plan, and she’d just discovered it had been sabotaged. And it’s hard to believe that they had no plan at all other than “I dunno, I guess we’ll fight and run for it?” Hence the (unauthorized) Portkey. Which Peter recently stole or destroyed, most likely that very day as a rat.
> 
> I decided that in canon, Lily put that picture on the mantel downstairs instead, so it wasn’t in the nursery to remind her of her childhood floating trick at the critical moment.
> 
> September was originally the seventh month of the Roman calendar; “septem” is Latin for “seven.”
> 
> We don’t know exactly what happened when Aberforth caught Severus listening at the door, since Trelawney’s memory was hazy and we never got a full account from another source. But it’s hard to believe that Aberforth and Albus between them couldn’t have Obliviated Severus (and Trelawney, if necessary) if they _wanted_ to. So, maybe they—or Albus, at least—didn’t want to. Was he hoping Voldemort would shoot himself in the foot by trying to avert a prophecy? If he did, he’ll never admit it—possibly not even to himself.


	2. The Safe House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore moves Lily and Harry to a new safe house--but Lily doubts very much that it's safe.

How strange it felt to sit in Dumbledore’s office sipping cocoa. It was quiet here, and safe, and no one ever got murdered by evil wizards. Lily half expected Dumbledore to start talking about the House Cup.

Harry was nodding and rubbing his eyes, so exhausted that even all the upset wouldn’t keep him awake much longer. He didn’t understand what had happened. How she envied him.

Dumbledore sighed deeply and steepled his fingers. “I am so sorry to have to ask this of you, Lily, but it is of the utmost importance that I know exactly what happened tonight. Even the most insignificant-sounding detail may reveal something of Voldemort’s plans, or a weakness we can exploit.”

She set her cocoa on the desk and took a shuddery breath. “I was putting Harry to bed. James was still downstairs.” _And I was annoyed and ungrateful_. “I heard the door bang open, and James shouted that it was him and to take Harry and run, and then I heard… I heard…”

Dumbledore’s eyes softened. “It must have taken uncommon courage to face Voldemort so that you might have time to escape. James was a true Gryffindor.”

Lily nodded, fresh tears leaking from her eyes. She stroked Harry’s dark hair which never lay flat, so like James’s. He would know how brave his father was. She would make certain of it.

“And how did you come to encounter Severus? The Portkey should have transported you directly to the hiding place I had prepared.”

Her face burned as she realized how careless they had been. “The Portkey wasn’t there. Peter must have taken it, and I’d left my wand in the bath before I took Harry to the nursery, and…” And they had almost died. “And I grabbed Harry and jumped out the window. I thought if I could jump past the enchantments, I could Apparate, and that had to be better than our chances with him. I heard him cast the Killing Curse as I spun in the air.”

Dumbledore looked at her sharply. “Are you or Harry injured? A fall from that height—”

“No! I couldn’t let Harry be hurt. I can’t explain it, but I made us fall slowly. I had to protect him.” Harry whimpered, and Lily realized she was holding him too tightly. She forced herself to loosen her grip and kissed him again. She nuzzled into his hair, unwilling to look up and see Dumbledore’s disappointment.

“Peter’s still out there,” she said. “We can’t let him get away.”

“Ah, yes. Severus informed me of that unexpected detail. I have alerted the other Order members. Rest assured that we will find him. I believe Sirius intends not to sleep until ‘the dirty rat is dead or in Azkaban,’ as his message put it. Though with slightly more, ah, colorful language.”

Lily broke down. “We should have asked you to be Secret-Keeper,” she hiccupped. “I don’t know why James and Sirius thought this was such a good plan, or why I didn’t argue…”

“I too regret that James did not accept my offer, but you need blame no one but Peter Pettigrew and Voldemort for tonight’s events,” Dumbledore said. “They alone plotted the deaths of you and your family.”

But that wasn’t true, was it? She could never forget. Never. “And Se—Snape. He told You-Know-Who the prophecy. It’s his fault too.”

Dumbledore sighed. “While, regrettably, Severus made some grave errors in judgement—very grave indeed—the threat to your life belatedly drove him to the realization that joining Voldemort was not, perhaps, the wisest decision. He has since provided me with invaluable information. I know how difficult this must be to hear, but Severus remaining with the Death Eaters as my spy is for the best.”

“It’s sickening. He makes me sick.”

“I quite understand. Naturally, I will not expect you to work together. In fact, that would be highly dangerous to you both. I expect Voldemort would order him to kidnap Harry were the child to remain within his grasp. Refusal or failure could mean his death.”

“Let him die,” Lily muttered. “He signed up for it. Let him suffer the consequences.”

“I realize you are angry, but I would prefer him to remain in his present position. Now, since you cannot stay at Hogwarts without danger, as I said, let us discuss arrangements for your and Harry’s safety.”

Lily’s stomach lurched. _But Hogwarts is safe! We can’t leave!_

But Dumbledore was right. If they stayed, Se—Snape would surely be ordered to deliver her and Harry to his master. And how could Dumbledore be sure he wouldn’t do it this time?

“Where can we go?”

“Ah, I have a safe house in the countryside for emergencies such as this. It is already stocked with basic provisions. I regret to say that it is not quite as comfortably furnished as the hiding place I had originally intended. However, since Peter almost certainly has the Portkey, that place is no longer secure. But I’m sure this one will serve adequately.”

He’d arranged the Godric’s Hollow cottage too when they first learned Voldemort was targeting them. Just how many safe houses did he have ready to shelter Order members in trouble?

_Irrelevant details again._

Lily reached for her wand to clean Harry’s drool off her shoulder. The unfamiliar feel of the grip stopped her cold.

“My wand. I still don’t have my wand,” she said. “You can give—Snape—back his. I don’t want anything to do with it.” She slammed it onto the desk and pushed it away, then wiped her hand on her robe. Her palm felt tainted. The cloak suddenly felt like a Lethifold on her back; she yanked it off and hurled it to the floor.

Dumbledore stopped the rolling wand and frowned. “He gave you his wand?”

“Very dramatic, wasn’t it? I almost trusted him for a minute.”

Dumbledore’s face was unreadable. “Yes, that is—quite a gesture.” He rose. “Very well, I will provide another wand until yours can be retrieved.”

From Godric’s Hollow. James was still there too.

“James. We need to bury him.”

“It will be done as soon as possible. Now, let me see…”

Would they even be able to attend the funeral? No, they would be in hiding. Again.

Hiding.

“The invisibility cloak. You-Know-Who almost hit us with the Killing Curse. If we had the cloak back, and I kept it with me, that might buy us a few extra seconds when we need them.” Lily shivered when she realized she’d said _when_ , not _if_.

Dumbledore looked hesitant. Of course. He had probably guessed that James had used it in seventh year to sneak food from the kitchens and explore after curfew—not to mention his more recent habit of leaving the cottage when he really shouldn’t have.

She pressed. “You know I won’t use it to sneak out because I’m bored or anything like that. I have to protect Harry.” Guilt stabbed her. James had _died_ for them, and here she was as good as calling him irresponsible.

His blue eyes pierced her from behind his half-moon glasses. After a moment, he nodded. “Yes, it should be safe enough. I will return in a moment.”

He vanished through a door in the paneling, then returned carrying a sack and a small box.

“The cloak,” he said, opening the sack to show the silvery folds within. “And a wand.” He opened the box. “Try it and see if it agrees with you.”

The wand looked antique. It was well polished, but faintly sad, as if it had been shut up alone for a long time. She lifted it gently. The wand warmed at her touch and seemed to float upward, and when she gave it a delicate flick, the sparks danced as easily as if she were using her own. Lily felt something in her chest loosen. She had a wand now.

“Whose was it?” she asked, then immediately regretted it. It had probably belonged to an Order member who had fallen in battle.

Dumbledore had an odd, distant look. “It’s getting late. Fawkes will transport us with the least risk of exposure. If you will just take my hand…”

Puzzled, Lily grabbed the sack, made sure Harry was secure in his sling, and did as he asked. Dumbledore laid a hand on Fawkes, and suddenly the world vanished in a swirl of crimson.

Lily blinked, unable to see for a moment. Fawkes could Apparate from inside Hogwarts? Obviously, her knowledge of phoenixes was lacking.

Once her vision had recovered, Dumbledore guided her through a gate in a hedge into a small, overgrown garden. A path barely visible in the faint moonlight led to a tiny stone cottage.

It was cold inside, and dark. Dumbledore lit a fire in the grate. “It isn’t connected to the Floo network. This house is already protected by a number of enchantments. You and Harry should be quite safe. You will find tea and biscuits in the cupboard for morning, and sundry dry and tinned goods. I will be but a Patronus message away.”

Lily said goodbye in a daze. She stumbled through a door into a tiny bedroom and Conjured a cot for Harry, then stood watching him for what felt like hours. When she finally remembered to lie down, though she was so exhausted that she thought she might never be able to rise from the lumpy mattress again, she couldn’t sleep.

James was dead. Peter was a traitor. Sev was a Death Eater. You-Know-Who wanted to kill her baby.

Nothing would ever be right again.

#

“No, Lily, you know you’re not supposed to!” Petunia cried as Lily flew off the swing. She landed next to Sev, who said, “You see, you’re a witch. That means you’re better than Muggle filth like her.” His face grew paler and paler, and his laugh was high and cold. He raised his wand, but James jumped between them. “I’ll hold him off! Take Harry and run!” he shouted. But Harry wasn’t in her arms, and then the pale wizard said _Avada Kedavra_ —

Lily found herself tangled in unfamiliar sheets, her stomach in knots. She had to get to Harry. They had to run.

She heard a terrible _thud_. Harry! She grabbed her wand from under the pillow and leapt up—only to trip over the sheets and hit the floor hard. Pain shot up her wrists. She coughed. The floor was dusty. A wave of shame at her lax housekeeping crashed over her.

“James?” She scrambled to her feet. “Harry?”

Harry sat on the floor, looking startled but not hurt. He must have climbed over the bars and fallen. Lily grabbed him and checked him over, covering him in kisses to distract him. She was sick and shaking. James would be proud of his strong son, but what would he say when he found out she’d let Harry fall? She should have been more careful!

Harry laughed and wriggled from her grasp to run across the room. She gasped and scooped him up again. They had to get away—

—from where? Where were they? She sat down on the bed, breathing heavily.

They were in Dumbledore’s safe house. Peter was a traitor. James was dead. It was all Sev’s fault.

Harry escaped again and bounced on his feet. “Play!”

His little face was so hopeful, so trusting. “Of course Mummy will play with you!” She Conjured bubbles for Harry to catch and watched him giggle every time he popped one.

He looked around proudly after one especially high leap. “Dada?”

Oh, Merlin, how long would “Daddy isn’t here right now” keep him pacified?

Not long at all, and when he wasn’t asking for James, he wanted the cat. After breakfast and four hours of alternating tantrums and playtimes, she finally got Harry calmed, fed again, changed, and put down for a nap.

And then she had no distractions to stop herself from thinking. She sat at the battered kitchen table with a cup of tea growing cold in her hands, running through everything she knew.

They were in a safe house. How long could they stay here? Did anyone but Dumbledore know about it? Of course, now that they knew Peter was the traitor—

—but then, what made them think there was only one? Just because Peter was working for You-Know-Who didn’t mean Sirius or Remus couldn’t be his agent too. Or Diggle. Or Moody. Or Alice and Frank.

Alice and Frank. _Neville_. He’d been born the day before Harry. What was it Sev—Snape—had said? “Born as the seventh month dies.” Had Dumbledore kept it from them too?

Before Lily could think too deeply about _that_ , she concentrated hard on her memory of newborn Harry. She gave her wand the special twirl that let her send a message with her Patronus. “You-Know-Who is targeting babies. Neville is in danger. Be careful!”

There, she’d done what she could. Now she had to focus on Harry. They’d been careless at Godric’s Hollow. She had to keep her wand on her at all times and the cloak in her pocket, and plan more than one escape route. This cottage only had a ground floor and tiny windows, so jumping wouldn’t work. What _was_ here, besides tea and tinned beans?

One cupboard held pots and pans and a small pewter cauldron. She got that out and set it on the table. She might need to brew some potions. A drawer held sharp knives of various sizes, one a proper silver potions knife. There were hooks on the ceiling beams she could use to dry herbs. The fireplace was small and the chimney narrow. Matches and a gas stove with a full bottle of gas. Several candles in pewter candlesticks and a single lantern hanging from the ceiling. Two wooden chairs and one lumpy armchair. One door to the outside and one small kitchen window. One door into the tiny bedroom, and one window in the bedroom. A tiny loo tacked onto the back. A wardrobe, empty but for a single black robe and an extra blanket. Iron bedframe. Tin tub for bathing stashed under the bed. Scuffed wood floors and a braided rug. The cot she’d Conjured for Harry.

It was pitiful. She could blow the stove up, but how big would the explosion be? Too small, or big enough to kill her and Harry too? (At least she wouldn’t have to look at the sickly yellow wallpaper in the bedroom anymore. That shade must violate the Geneva Convention.) Should she try to make a back door in the bedroom, or would that damage the protections on the house and give enemies a way to surround them? The windows could provide sharp glass, and the bed rails could be turned into spears. And what use would any of that be?

Lily wanted to collapse on the table and sob, but James was gone, so it was all up to her. She forced herself to open the front door and peer out into the overgrown cottage garden. The hedges were tall enough to block much of the sun, what little there was today. No wonder she felt so gloomy. There was comfrey. And fluxweed, dying wolfsbane, borage miraculously hanging on in a sheltered corner, mint in a crumbling pot, and woody honeysuckle around the portico.

After agonizing for an eon, she took the silver knife and one of the pots and dashed out to gather anything that might make a useful potions ingredient (or make dinner more palatable). The mint was thick and fragrant. A handful of that went into the pot. There wasn’t much left of the borage, but even a bit might be useful.

Something rustled in the hedge. Lily jumped, wand in hand.

Nothing. It must have been the wind.

She moved on to a scraggly rosemary bush hidden around the side of the cottage. A few springs of that should—

 _Thwap_. Something slammed against the gate. It might be a Death Eater rather than him. Should she run for Harry or stand and fight? What if they’d sent another Death Eater around the back?

After a moment standing frozen with indecision, she realized there was a bit of knotted rope dangling from a hole in the gatepost. It must hang down the outside too, where it flapped in the wind.

Lily gulped. No one was here.

She scurried to the next plant and hurriedly chopped a few stalks. Then the next, and the next. She expected to see hooded figures on brooms descend over the hedge at any moment. By the time she ran back into the house, she was shaking so hard she could barely latch the door.

_Some Gryffindor I’ve grown up to be!_

She yanked the curtains closed and sighed with relief. Right. What else did she need to keep longer than Conjured items lasted? If she made a list, maybe Dumbledore could bring the supplies to her.

The closed curtains made the room feel too small to breathe. And how could she see whether anyone was coming? She pulled them open again.

She heard Harry stirring with a mixture of irritation and relief. He’d take up time she needed to prepare their defenses—but would also provide distraction from how useless that preparation probably was.

The afternoon crawled by. Lily couldn’t decide whether she feared more to keep the curtains open or shut. Harry picked up on her anxiety and fussed. By the time she got him to bed, she thought she might start clawing that awful wallpaper right off the walls.

If only James were here to tease and distract her. Though he’d had even worse cabin fever than she did, and in some ways, it was easier not to have to soothe him as well as Harry.

Guilt hit as soon as that thought entered her mind. James had _died_ for them.

A knock came at the door. _No_. She leapt in front of the door into the bedroom, wand raised. She wouldn’t let _him_ get Harry.

The front door swung open to reveal Dumbledore’s silver beard and half-moon spectacles glinting in the lamplight. Fawkes was perched on his shoulder, and Dumbledore quickly flicked his wand to produce his phoenix Patronus.

Lily’s breath came out in a rush. “You nearly scared the life out of me.”

Dumbledore looked grave. “I apologize for not sending my Patronus ahead. Please, sit. I’ll make tea.” He filled the kettle and set it steaming with a twirl of his wand. “Arabella Figg has volunteered to foster your cat, by the way. I hope that meets with your approval.”

“Oh… yes. Yes, of course Aethelflaed can stay with her.”

While they waited for the tea to steep, Dumbledore reached into a pocket of his midnight-blue robe and presented two wands. “Alastor was able to retrieve these.”

Her wand… and James’s. That did it. Lily buried her face in her hands and sobbed. 

Dumbledore Conjured a handkerchief for her, which made her ashamed to need it. What would James say if he could see her blubbing like this? _Pull yourself together, Lils!_ She never used to fall apart. What had happened to her?

“Thank you,” she finally managed. “Maybe someday… his wand will suit Harry.”

“That would be a fitting memorial.”

“And… James?” She couldn’t bring herself to say "James’s body."

“He will be laid to rest in the cemetery in Godric’s Hollow tomorrow. I am sorry, but under the circumstances—”

“No, of course I can’t go. I understand.”

“I am so sorry. If there is an epitaph you would like on the headstone?”

It hadn’t even occurred to her. “Can I think about it and have them add it later?”

“Of course. Now, is there anything else I can bring to make you more comfortable here?”

She took a shuddery breath and pulled her list from her pocket, her fingers brushing the silky fabric of James’s invisibility cloak. “Yes, I’ve thought of a few things…”

Dumbledore waited encouragingly.

“More clothes for Harry, and nappies. I can’t keep Scourgifying the same set. A stirring rod and some phials and jars to go with that cauldron—I might need to brew some, some Calming Draughts and, and things. And books—storybooks for Harry, and reference books for me. Old textbooks, even, but anything on potions and magical defense. I need to practice more.”

“It will be done.” Dumbledore smiled indulgently.

He didn’t even stay long enough to finish his tea.

Lily paced the tiny kitchen. Last night, Dumbledore had said he regretted that James hadn’t accepted his offer. When had he offered to be their Secret-Keeper? Why hadn’t James told her? And why hadn’t she been able to bring herself to ask Dumbledore about it?

Unbidden, the memory of that afternoon tea with Bathilda intruded. “Of course, I never expected Gellert would… well, do what he did. If you had seen him and Albus that summer, you’d have thought they were going to change the world together! For the greater good, they talked about that a lot. Of course, they had a few wild ideas, as young boys always do, but they’d have grown out of that soon enough if—” Then Harry had woken from his nap, and she’d never found out what Bathilda thought had caused the rift between the boys and pushed her charming, supposedly misguided-but-harmless nephew down the path to Dark Lordship.

Going back to Godric’s Hollow and asking was out of the question. The place must be watched day and night by both sides and the Ministry. And anyway, James hadn’t heard any more than she had, so it wouldn’t help her reconstruct his thoughts.

Lily rubbed at her eyes in frustration. She was getting nowhere. She should try to get some sleep; things were always clearer in the morning.

And they were. She woke to find a sack filled with the things she’d requested. The books were hers and James’s and the clothes were hers and Harry’s, so he must have gone to the house. Dumbledore was probably the only person who could have managed that without anyone noticing. He’d even added Harry’s stuffed lion.

After transfiguring the sack into a sturdy rucksack, an Undetectable Extension Charm and a Featherlight Charm made it roomy inside and kept it light enough to carry no matter how much she stuffed into it. Another expedition into the garden revealed an ancient broom shed sheltering an even more ancient broom which could still fly, more or less.

It didn’t matter whether she trusted Dumbledore or not. He wasn’t all-powerful; even if he’d done everything right, that hadn’t stopped You-Know-Who from finding them once. And You-Know-Who would learn from his mistakes. He didn’t need to be able to _see_ this cottage. All he had to do was figure out the general location and blow up the entire area, or fill it with poison gas, or something else no one had thought to cast protective enchantments against. They couldn’t stay here like sitting ducks. Not this time.

They were going to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Lily is alive to tell people that Peter is the traitorous Secret-Keeper, Peter doesn’t have the set-up to frame Sirius. Those twelve Muggles will never know how lucky they are to be alive.
> 
> We never find out how Hogwarts is funded. Some of the money might come from the Ministry, wherever they get their funding. (Sales taxes? Import tariffs?) But there’s probably also a Hogwarts Endowment, and its assets might include real estate as well as cash, bonds, and what have you. If Dumbledore temporarily “borrows” a property or two for the war effort, who’s to know?
> 
> We know that James, er, neglected to tell Lily that he was still hexing Severus for kicks during sixth and seventh years. So it seems plausible that he also neglected to mention other details that might cast him in a less flattering light, like exactly how long he’d had the cloak at school and what else he might have used it for. And Lily very much wanted to believe that he’d changed out of love for her, so she didn’t ask as many questions as she could have. (Everyone who has ever convinced themselves that their significant other was not lying no matter how it looked, raise your hand.)
> 
> Why Aethelflaed? Lily named her cat the same way Harry named Hedwig: she was reading and liked the name.


	3. Anything for Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily flees with Harry to the Muggle world. She's hardly begun to form a plan when one of her old textbooks throws a spanner into her understanding of the very forces she's fighting. Now she needs to research Voldemort's weaknesses _and_ the nature of Dark magic... but the best person to ask about those topics is the last person she wants to talk to.

First, Lily needed a plan. She wouldn’t be caught unprepared again. They should stay in Muggle areas, preferably large cities where they could get lost in the crowds. Or should they look for isolated cottages like this one? Camp out in the woods? Lily decided to start in a Muggle city, where she could get more supplies if necessary, and then decide whether to change tactics.

Using supplies from the garden and Dumbledore, she brewed Calming Draughts, Pepperup, Wideye, Pain-Away, fever reducers, healing salves, antidotes. Anything they might need which she could pass off as a suitable distraction for a frightened young mother. Her frequent nightmares about drowning and being buried alive were justification enough for the amount of Dreamless Sleep she brewed. She’d started taking it occasionally after Marlene and her family were murdered; no surprise that she’d need more now.

 _A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_ refreshed her memory of the spell that would turn her and Harry’s hair mousy brown. She’d wait until right before they ran to do that. Maybe she should cut it, too. No one had ever seen her with fringe.

Fortunately, Dumbledore had included her Muggle skirt and blouse and a pullover along with her robes. She added hidden wand pockets in the sleeves and the skirt and extended another pocket in the skirt to hold the cloak. Harry’s robes looked like little frocks, so he would be easy to disguise as a baby girl. She let his hair grow and learned to conjure headbands with bows.

She practiced every spell in her books that looked remotely useful. Professor Slughorn thought she had a wonderfully intuitive grasp of magic, but that was only partly true. She’d also studied hard to make it look natural, like she belonged. Now she was glad of those study skills.

After three weeks, there was no excuse to delay any longer. She packed the rucksack, transformed their hair, secured Harry in the sling, and threw James’s cloak over them both.

Lily crossed the threshold and looked up at the sky. “Here we go.” She climbed onto the broom and kicked off before she could have second thoughts.

Icy wind hit as soon as they flew above the hedge’s protection. Harry started to cry, and she cast a hurried Warming Charm. A quick look around revealed no one in sight, but someone could be lurking Disillusioned nearby.

James had taught her the trick of spinning sharply on a broom to Apparate just after they left school, and she’d never been more grateful. He was still protecting them. They spun, the world contracted, and then the outskirts of Newcastle appeared beneath them.

Now she just had to find their first hiding place.

#

When you need information, ask your nan or go to the library: that’s what Nan—Dad’s mum—had always said. The first telephone box Lily tried had a directory that pointed her to the nearest branch. (To think, she could call someone with nothing but a coin. No happy memories, sooty fireplaces, or heirloom mirrors required.)

A kindly middle-aged woman at the reference desk found her a list of lodgings and a map of the city, and gave her scratch paper to write down what she needed. “And if you stay a few minutes, we’re about to have children’s story time. This one looks like she would love a story!”

Lily paused. There were hardly likely to be Death Eaters in a Muggle library, and Harry had been so lonely and frustrated at being cooped up. “That sounds lovely. Wouldn’t you like a story, Jamie?”

Harry pouted. He wasn’t used to the new “game” they were playing. “No.”

“Don’t be silly. Look how many nice children there are! Let’s go sit with them.”

All right, maybe she was feeling a bit cooped up too. It had been over a year since she’d left the house for more than the rare Order meeting. The last few weeks in Godric’s Hollow, she hadn’t even stepped out into the garden. She chose a spot with the wall at her back and kept herself ready to draw one of her wands.

Harry eyed the other babies warily, and with a start Lily realized he had only ever had two playdates with Neville, ages ago, before they went into hiding. He might not even remember that there were other children in the world! You-Know-Who had a lot to answer for.

He perked up once the story started. It was about a caterpillar that ate and ate, and the woman reading it had the knack of making nothing else seem so interesting as what she was saying.

Lily’s eyes welled up when the caterpillar emerged as a beautiful butterfly. What was wrong with her?

“Play?” Harry wriggled in her lap, looking at the blocks the librarian pulled out of a cubby.

“Yes, go ahead and play. Mummy will be right here.” It should be safe enough. He would only be a few steps away.

Harry picked up a block and shook it, frowning. Of course. It wasn’t changing colors like his blocks at home.

“Sweet, aren’t they?” a tired woman with dishwater-blond hair next to Lily said. Her clothes were so drab that she seemed to blend into the background.

“Mmm.” No way did Lily want to get caught up in a stranger’s inane chatter. They would have to leave soon. She scanned the list of hotels. The librarian had circled several as being particularly cheap.

“So hard, worrying whether they’ll get to grow up.”

Lily went cold. “What?” Who was this woman? Was she—

The woman gestured at a thick tome in her lap with a picture of a red missile on the cover. “The Russians, like.”

Lily stared blankly for a second before she remembered what the hammer and sickle meant. Right. The Cold War. Her parents had talked about that a lot. She’d worried about it too, before she’d left the Muggle world entirely and stopped hearing about it. How could something so monstrous have slipped her mind?

Imagine the irony if You-Know-Who took over the wizarding world only to die of radiation poisoning. Or was he really unkillable, and he’d rule over the cockroaches?

“I feel helpless, like,” the woman continued. “Maybe if I understand, I can do something, even if it’s fair thin. I’d do anything to keep my little girl safe.”

Lily swallowed to clear the lump in her throat. “I know what you mean.”

Suddenly, Harry squalled. He threw a block at the ground. It bounced and hit another child, who shrieked.

 _Oh, no._ If this kept up, he might have a magical outburst. That would be disastrous. She grabbed the rucksack and Harry. “Poor thing, you must be tired! Let’s go have a nap and it will be all better.” She fled before anyone could comment.

The streets were crowded with Muggles, any of whom might notice something strange at any moment. She hurriedly cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm and half-ran with Harry in one arm and the map in the other, panic rising in her throat. It must be left at this next corner…

The Muggle at the reception desk looked around, puzzled, when Lily dashed through the door. She cancelled the charm and fell breathlessly against the desk.

“How much for a single room for the night, please?”

She felt uneasy about Confunding him to think she’d paid. His dazed expression was disturbing. And someone was bound to notice the missing money soon. Would he lose his job for what she’d done? Lily resolved to borrow some money and cast a Doubling Charm on it as soon as possible, so she could pay. He shouldn’t be blamed for not catching counterfeits. She hoped.

The room felt as cramped and bleak as the cottage they’d escaped. Flowered wallpaper peeled off the walls over a narrow bed and dusty carpet stained with who-knew-what. There was a loo with cracked tiles, but the bathing facilities were in a shared room down the hall. Someone had placed a flowered wash basin on the chest of drawers in a futile attempt at charm. The curtains and threadbare blankets reeked of cigarette smoke.

A biscuit distracted the still-whimpering Harry while Lily conjured a damp cloth to wipe his face. What a relief to be in a private, Muggle-free room, where the Ministry didn’t care whether the magic she did was visible or not.

“Dadda?” Harry hiccupped.

“I wish he were here too.” She flicked her wand to clear the smoke. How did Muggles cope? Next, she cast a suite of protective enchantments and then settled down to comfort Harry.

An hour later, once Harry had finally gone down for a nap, she forced herself to eat a biscuit. The Muggle woman wouldn’t leave her thoughts. _Maybe if I understand, I can do something…_

The Order had talked about ways to find You-Know-Who’s weaknesses, but they’d always focused on what little anyone had ever seen of him—and it hadn’t worked. What if she could find out more about his past? Maybe when he was younger and less experienced, he’d made a mistake Dumbledore could exploit. Or maybe knowing more about where he came from would provide a clue to what he’d done to make himself so indestructible, and they could use that to counteract the enchantments.

There was only one problem: how in hell was she going to find out anything about him? It wasn’t as if she could rifle through his desk looking for personal papers. Assuming he even had a desk. And he wouldn’t leave anything revealing just lying around. _Dear Diary, here is a list of all my weaknesses and the location of my secret hideout. All my spies will be there for Sunday brunch._ If only.

Lily sighed and pulled out a book at random. _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_. Maybe she would be teaching Harry from this someday, in another dreary hotel room.

Might as well start with the introduction.

> “Charms differ from transfiguring spells in the following manner: a charm adds certain properties to an object or creature, whereas a transfiguring spell will change it into something utterly different.”

Lily rolled the heritage wand Dumbledore had insisted she keep between her fingers. She’d been alternating using all three wands in her possession; she had to be ready to use any wand available. Hers was especially good for charms, and James’s for transfiguration. What was this one best suited for?

> “The lesser charms are not very difficult to break and many of those that you learn as a young wizard will wear off in a matter of days or even hours.”

Nothing she didn’t know here. She was about to close the book when another sentence caught her eye.

> “Dark charms are known as jinxes, hexes and curses. This book does not deal with such spells.”

Lily sat up straight. _Dark charms?_ How could she have missed this sentence all these years? It couldn’t be right. Hogwarts didn’t teach the Dark Arts. What was Miranda Goshawk playing at? Trying to scare firsties out of jinxing each other?

Nothing else made sense. James would roll his eyes and say, _Calm down, Lils, you worry too much._

And just look where not worrying enough had got them. No, that was a horrible thing to think. Even if it was true.

She got up and paced the room. Three steps, turn, three steps. She tore open the rucksack and pulled out every book. Dark magic was evil, and Hogwarts didn’t teach it. The real definition must be here somewhere. Then she could rest easy.

The more she searched, the more Lily’s horrified bafflement grew. Nothing. Well, nothing but vague comments, some along similar (but not identical) lines, some regarding legal transgressions, neither of which clarified the magical theory. She felt like she’d been hit by the Whomping Willow. Did this mean it might be _true_? Then what was the difference between Hogwarts and Durmstrang? When James said he hated the Dark Arts—

She couldn’t think about James. She needed to focus.

Item: she needed to discover You-Know-Who’s weaknesses so they could defeat him and Harry could grow up safe.

Item: You-Know-Who was a master of the Dark Arts.

Item: she had no idea what the Dark Arts really were.

Lily clenched her fists. There was one person who could provide information about both You-Know-Who and the Dark Arts. If she trusted him to tell the truth, which she didn’t. But Dumbledore thought they could. And what choice did she have?

She needed to talk to Severus Snape.

#

Dumbledore’s Patronus arrived while she was still punching the air in (silent, so as not to wake Harry) rage.

“Lily, where are you? Please return to the cottage so that I know you are safe.”

She took a few deep breaths and stroked Harry’s hair before replying. He looked so peaceful. “I’m sorry, but I need to keep Harry safe. Staying in one place is too dangerous. They don’t need to know exactly where we are to drop a bomb on us. I’ll stay in touch.”

His response came almost immediately. “I strongly disagree. Please return.”

When she didn’t respond, another Patronus came soon after. “I realize that you’ve had a difficult time recently. Please keep in constant contact with me and think of the safe house as your refuge. I urge you to return as soon as possible.”

That took care of that for the moment. Now, how to contact the monster who had delivered her and her family to the forces of evil?

Patronuses were too cumbersome to carry on a long conversation. She didn’t have James’s magic mirror, and even if she had, Sirius had its mate.

Hmm… they’d talked about that in fourth year, hadn’t they?

_“I knew they had two-way mirrors! I caught Black using his to warn Potter that Mulciber and Avery were after him for that stunt with the biting desks.”_

_“Wish we had a pair of mirrors.”_

_“We can’t all be filthy rich heirs to ancient pureblood houses.”_

_“So we’ll just have to be the best at magic instead, won’t we?”_

They’d scoured the library for communication spells. There were references to ancient sorcerers speaking or transporting objects through water (Durmstrang was rumored to have a ship that could travel from any lake to another), with a few hints to the process, but they’d never found a complete spell that didn’t call for guild-protected secrets or rare, expensive ingredients. Their experiments had produced nothing but shadows.

They both knew more about magic now. Maybe she could do better.

Sight, speech, clarity, connection…

After hours of flipping through her books and scribbling notes, she thought she had something. Now to test it. She filled the flowered wash basin with water and cast _Muffliato_ so she wouldn’t disturb Harry. Marigold petals, extract of bilberry. Fumitory smoke. A sprig of rue to trace _Ansuz_ on the water’s surface.

Lily breathed onto the water. “Severus Snape.”

The water swirled, shimmered. A shadow wavered in the depths. It darkened.

“Lily? How did you—wait, let me try—”

And there he was, as clear as she’d ever seen him.

“Can you talk now?”

“Yes, I’m just washing up some cauldrons.”

“It’s nearly midnight!”

He shrugged. “Blood-replenishing potions don’t brew themselves. But never mind that. Are you safe? What happened to your hair?”

Damn. She should have covered it or turned it back. Now that he’d seen it, she’d have to change it again. “We’re safe, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt if my hair didn’t make me such an easy target. I need information.”

“Anything.”

His expression looked open and utterly sincere. She shivered. It wasn’t like she’d trust anything he said straight off. Even lies might give her something to work with.

“I can’t be on the front lines, so I’m taking on more of the research side.” Which was true, if incomplete. “I need to do everything I can to bring down You-Know-Who and protect Harry. So I need to understand what I’m facing better.”

“Ah. You need my… subject expertise.”

“Exactly. None of my books give a proper definition of Dark magic. I’ve only found nonsense like Miranda Goshawk classifying _all_ jinxes, hexes, and curses as Dark. How can that be, if Hogwarts doesn’t teach Dark magic?”

Sev sighed. “Hogwarts doesn’t teach the _Dark Arts_ , as a discipline. That’s not the same thing, much as some would like to give that impression.”

“And the Ministry’s Dark wizard catchers?”

He had the gall to roll his eyes. “They’re using the term in the popular sense. They catch criminals and people they disapprove of. Lily, you must know that Crouch authorized Aurors to use the Unforgivable Curses, and they’ve been using all three liberally. Does that sound like a dedicated campaign against Dark magic to you?”

And there was the gnawing doubt. She scowled and said nothing.

“Very well,” Sev said. “Here’s the quick version. Dark magic is any magic with one or more of the following characteristics: it draws on the life-force of the caster or other parties for its power, rather than on ambient magic or magical ingredients alone; its effects are difficult or impossible to counteract and do not die with the caster; it requires the will or belief of the caster or other parties, often represented by their faith in symbols or rituals; or it transgresses the known laws of magic. The dividing line between Dark and non-Dark magic isn’t always sharp, and there are additional technicalities and caveats, of course, but that’s the basic outline.”

That could hardly be it. That would mean—“You’re saying a new spell that works differently than anyone thinks it should would be classified as Dark, just because we don’t understand it? That’s absurd.”

“Agreed.”

Lily shook her head. “No, there’s more you’re leaving out. There’s no way everyone would think it’s so evil if that were all.”

“ _Everyone_ doesn’t.” He sounded exasperated. She’d forgotten how irritatingly superior he could be. “But think about it. Transgressing the known laws of magic reminds wizards that they’re playing with powers they don’t understand, and it frightens them. The forces involved can be chaotic and dangerous, which adds to their fear. We’re used to being able to reverse nearly anything. It’s easy to forget about the benefits of lasting healing when faced with injuries that never heal.”

“I suppose.”

“Ordinary household spells can be used to torture and kill, and no one claims that that makes all cooking and cleaning spells evil,” he pressed. “But they condemn the whole of the Dark Arts because a few spells are both Dark and evil.”

“Like the Unforgivable Curses.”

“Those, and a few others. For example, it’s one thing to draw on one’s own life-force or belief, or that of a willing partner. Many ancient agricultural fertility rituals drew upon the will and desire of entire communities. But some such spells can be used… non-consensually.”

Lily drew back, revolted. “ _That’s_ what all the Muggle-torture is about? And here I thought you just hated them.”

“No, that’s what _overturning the Statute of Secrecy_ is about. If Muggles believed again, they could strengthen magic they way they used to.”

“That’s what you tell yourself.”

“I never tortured any Muggles!”

“Just stood and watched, did you? How noble.”

He didn’t say anything. She could hardly stand to look at him. She turned away. Took a breath. Turned back. She had to do this for Harry.

“So you really think you’re going to take over the world by ending Secrecy? How is that even supposed to work? There are thousands of millions of them, and they have nukes. We’d never survive.”

He didn’t meet her eyes. “I realize that _now_. I thought… I thought about us growing up in Cokeworth. I wanted to help make the world a place where children like us wouldn’t have to hide who we were or get called freaks anymore. But you’re right, it can’t happen. Not this way. I don’t think it’s what the Dark Lord wants either.”

Which led her to her second point. Lily unclenched her jaw. “What does he really want, then? Besides absolute power and terrified subjects.”

“Don’t forget immortality. What?” he said at her expression. “The Flamels made a philosopher’s stone and have lived over six hundred years, and the headmaster studied with them. Immortality itself isn’t evil. Just, ah, certain methods.” He ran his fingers through his hair, which made it look even stringier. “As to what he wants… It sounds mad, but… I think he wants us all to die. Wizards, that is. Look how many of the old families are dying out because of the war. He’s not stupid, so maybe that’s what he _wants_ to happen.”

Grudgingly, she admitted he had a point. The war had been killing purebloods at a catastrophic rate. “Then there’s another reason to find his weaknesses and stop him.”

“It’s not like we haven’t been watching his every—”

“Not just by trying to kill him and seeing what doesn’t work! I mean looking into his _past_. He’s bound to have something he wants buried that we can use.” Belatedly, she wondered whether his “we” was the same as hers. How many other Death Eaters regretted signing up with a megalomaniac?

Sev frowned. “The Dark Lord doesn’t take kindly to questions about his past. I doubt anyone knows much about it.”

“Well, we know he was in Slytherin, at least. That’s a start.”

He looked genuinely surprised at that. “Who said he was? We all thought he must be Continental.” (Well, that answered that question.) “One of Grindelwald’s followers, probably. How could he have gone to Hogwarts without anyone guessing his identity?”

“Because—” Come to think of it, how did they know? Dumbledore had implied, certainly, but why, if he didn’t know You-Know-Who’s true identity? “Dumbledore said so, but I don’t know why. Well, sort of. He didn’t actually _say_ it, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes.” He looked troubled. “Do you think he would lie about such a thing? To improve Order morale, perhaps?”

Lily wanted to say that of course he wouldn’t, but found she couldn’t quite believe it. “I don’t know. But it would be a silly lie, wouldn’t it? Eventually someone would ask how he knew.” How odd that they never had. James had crowed when they found out, and like trusting children, they’d never questioned it. “So at least it might be true. We could start there and see if we can rule it out. Do you know anything else?”

Sev looked shifty. “He must have reached adulthood by the late fifties or early sixties, so he couldn’t have been born later than nineteen-forty or so.”

That was nothing to hesitate over, so what was he hiding? “And? You’d better not hold anything back.”

“Er. This might not be true. The Dark Lord, ah, tells you what you want to hear when he recruits you. I think. But he claimed—privately, to me, in what was undoubtedly at least in part a test of my discretion—that he understood me because he had a worthless Muggle father too.”

Lily’s mouth fell open. “You’re joking.”

He shook his head.

“The leader of the pureblood supremacists is a _half-blood_?”

“He said their prejudices were temporarily useful, but that he would gradually persuade them that the important thing was having magic, not whether one had inherited it. He said he had no bias against talented half-bloods and Muggle-borns. I suppose that might be true, in a fashion, if he hates us all.”

“You mean when he said everyone in the Order could join him, he meant it? Even for me?”

“It’s possible. The Death Eaters aren’t all purebloods, that’s certain. But even if this proves not to be a lie, how does it help us?”

Lily furrowed her brow, thinking. “All right. Assume he was a Slytherin and left Hogwarts before nineteen-sixty. Can you look up past enrollment lists? You can cross off anyone who’s definitely still alive in the wizarding world, and I can search for records for anyone left in the Muggle world. Then we’ll see who’s still missing and focus on them, starting with the ones that aren’t purebloods.”

He tilted his head, considering. “That sounds feasible. We can start with the fifties and work backward. When should we contact each other? And how did you manage it, by the way? I was able to stabilize the connection, but I don’t know that I could initiate it.”

Though it pained her to think of talking to him again, she gritted her teeth, ran him through the process, and set a time three nights later. “Send a Patronus if you can’t make it, and I’ll do the same.” If he didn’t make the appointment and _couldn’t_ send a Patronus with a spoken message, that would tell her something too.

“Agreed. And Lily—please be careful.”

She traced _Ansuz_ upside-down with the rue to break the connection, then sat down next to Harry for some hard thinking.

Sev’s hints that You-Know-Who was a tyrant even to his own followers fit everything she thought she knew. Sev would have ample motivation to want his master dead out of sheer self-preservation. That didn’t make him trustworthy, exactly, but she probably could trust him to have the same goal she did for the moment.

Harry’s hair was soft under her fingers. He slept on, his thumb in his mouth. For his sake, she would work with the man who’d as good as killed James. Anything to bring You-Know-Who down.

Anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ministry seems to care mainly about magic visible to Muggles, and might exempt anything invisible or performed in private rooms, to keep their workload manageable if nothing else. At least in 1981. I expect their monitoring ability improves. What passes without notice in 1981 might get you a warning owl in 1991.
> 
> The _Standard Book of Spells_ quotes, including the one about “Dark charms,” came from Pottermore. Characters in the books also use “Dark magic” to mean different things. Xeno Lovegood says the Hallows aren’t Dark in a “crude sense”—i.e., they are Dark in some other sense. Ernie Macmillan and Severus say that baby Harry must have used Dark magic to survive a Killing Curse, which both Hufflepuff students and Bellatrix evidently find plausible. Unless the wizarding world thinks a fifteen-month-old can both have evil intent and a high awareness of his actions and consequences, they mean something other than “intentionally evil magic.” So “Dark magic” might sometimes mean “evil magic,” but at other times mean magic which is powerful, uncontrolled, dangerous, illegal, used by dodgy people, works in some way they don’t understand, etc. It’s like how “counter-curse” means both “a spell which counters the effects of a curse” (like Liberacorpus and Snape’s song-like healing spell) and “a curse you use on someone who cursed you first.” The “you just have to know what it means from context” aspect makes it difficult for someone like Lily, who wasn’t raised in the wizarding world, to pick up on these distinctions.
> 
> The British billion was a million millions until the government adopted the American billion (a thousand millions) in 1974. Some scientific papers may have used the American definition earlier. Regardless, “a million millions” is the definition of “billion” that Sev and Lily grew up with. The world population in 1981 was between four and five American billions, or between four and five thousand millions.
> 
> Voldemort claims that his followers know the “steps” he’s taken toward immortality. They don’t know about the Horcruxes, so what did he tell them? And I doubt that he gained a reputation for being unkillable through boasts alone. He probably did something (or many somethings) to make his body resistant to magical attacks, which he told his followers about. He then laughed off at least one magical attack which would kill a normal wizard, and left a survivor to spread the word.
> 
> The idea that overturning the Statute of Secrecy (“bring the wizards out of hiding to rule…”) was high treason and far more terrifying to most wizards than Muggle-torture comes from Condwiramurs. That it was appealing in part because some wizards thought that Muggles believing in magic could enhance one’s power—and that Muggle-torture might have had a (terrible) magical purpose—came from Terri Testing. I'm indebted to both of them and Jodel, Whitehound, Mottsnave, and many others for ideas to piece together a theory of Dark magic.
> 
> You have to wonder how Dumbledore’s followers got the impression that Voldemort was in Slytherin without learning his original identity. It must have taken some careful handling to keep them from asking who he was, and what else Dumbledore knew about him. Voldemort has a similar problem. “You were in Slytherin, my lord? You must have been a credit to our House! Did you win any trophies?” No, that’s not a conversation an evil overlord trying to conceal his identity as a Muggle-raised half-blood wants to have. At this point in time, he’s happy to let everyone who isn’t one of his school friends believe he’s from Somewhere Else. (Which doesn't preclude him from being the _Heir_ of Slytherin. Salazar could have descendants on every inhabited continent after a thousand years for all anyone knows.)
> 
> Leading his pureblood followers to believe he's a pureblood while enjoying a private joke by telling one half-blood follower the truth, which no one would ever believe even if the little brat did try to tell them, might be just Voldemort's sort of thing, however. That isn't enough information to reveal his identity, so it's a safe enough joke. Or so he thinks...


	4. Missing Persons

Lily hurried down a street in Sheffield, trying to somehow look casual while keeping an eye on as many of the people around her as possible. Muggle cities were so _big_ : hundreds of streets criss-crossing each other, packed with thousands of people.

She ought to feel more confident. She’d duplicated some Muggle money and acquired a pair of jeans, which no one had ever seen her wear (Mum had refused to let such unladylike apparel into the house); her hair was now blonde and curly; she’d got a pair of glasses with clear lenses. She’d even memorized the map of this part of the city. But the glasses kept slipping down her nose, and the jeans made her legs feel horribly exposed. Any one of the strangers surrounding her could be a Death Eater or an Imperius victim. Or the Muggles could spot something strange about her or Harry at any moment and bring the Ministry down on her.

She turned a corner and nearly ran smack into a group of boys about her own age. “Sorry,” she stammered, dodging around them and trying not to stare at their hair, which was shaved on the sides and swept up like the crests on Roman soldiers’ helmets in the middle. (She could imagine Tuney’s sniff of disapproval vividly. Disturbingly, her first instinct was to agree with Tuney.)

Harry lunged toward a shiny metal spike on the nearest boy’s jacket so suddenly that she nearly dropped him. Lily clutched him tighter and hurried away, heart pounding and face burning, the boys’ laughter chasing after her. Harry wailed, distraught at losing his new toy.

What was she thinking, running around Muggle cities on her own with a baby? Researching You-Know-Who’s schooldays sounded more and more like a delusion she’d concocted to help herself pretend she wasn’t helpless. James would have laughed at the idea that she could discover anything Dumbledore hadn’t by looking at old enrollment lists—if he weren’t too furious at the risks she was taking. Harry was bound to have a magical outburst at any moment. And what would she do if she _did_ run into Death Eaters? Gideon and Fabian had been cut down. Benjy Fenwick had been blown to bits. Marlene—she still couldn’t think about her friend without blinking back tears. Even Edgar Bones, one of the best duelists of their generation, hadn’t been able to save himself or his family.

Maybe they should return to the cottage, she thought as she finally got Harry settled into their new hotel room (just as worn and dreary as the last two). Dumbledore had sent quite a few Patronuses saying as much. The thought spread like cancer within her as she played with Harry, fed him, read him the same story five times, and paced back and forth, fiddling with the scarf she’d wrapped around her hair and watching him sleep. It would be so much easier to go back. And she wouldn’t have to talk to Sev again.

The pilfered washbasin glowed. Lily dashed over and stabilized the sending before she’d even realized she’d decided to do it.

“Sev?” Calling him anything else while actually talking to him was hard. And anyway, using her old childhood nickname for him might put him at ease and make it easier for her to get information. It didn’t mean anything.

Dark circles under his eyes gave him a ghoulish appearance. “I’ve checked back to 1953 and crossed off all but four names. Ready?”

She nodded, Muggle notepad and biro in hand.

“Michael Saunders. Address while at school was in Rochdale.”

She took down the full address.

“Gaius J. Barrett, Arundel.”

“Dumbledore mentioned him—he was a journalist who disappeared. He thought Barrett might have been one of the people You-Know-Who murdered secretly in the early days. I wonder if he knew something?”

She hadn’t heard of Pompeius Everard of Ross-on-Wye or Gwilym Llewellyn of Tywyn. “Right, I’ll see what I can find out. Same time three days from now?”

Sleep was still out of the question, so Lily returned to pacing—and thinking. Maybe this was a wild goose chase, but nothing else had worked. What else could she do? She’d been mad to think of going back to the cottage to wait for death.

And the question of how Dumbledore could know You-Know-Who was in Slytherin but not his original name had been gnawing at her. He must know. Why hide it? She couldn’t believe he would help You-Know-Who, but he might have made a mistake. Maybe he was trying to protect an innocent person who was mixed up in it all by accident, say, thinking it wouldn’t really matter. But if she found something, Dumbledore would realize she’d been right, and then he’d have to fix things.

#

There was just one problem: Lily had no idea how to find people in the Muggle world. Where did one even begin?

The library had worked for her once. She decided on the Manchester Central Library. It was sort of near Rochdale, wasn’t it? Maybe they centralized this sort of information regionally? The lovely domed building made her feel more at ease. A place like this must be full of history.

She cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm on Harry to avoid awkward questions about toddlers in the reading room.

“So sorry to bother you,” she began. The librarian looked pinched and stern, very like Madam Pince. “I’m hoping to find out about some old relatives, and I don’t know where to begin.”

“Genealogy, is it? What information do you have to start?”

This cover story had better work. Otherwise, it was just too embarrassing. “Very little, I’m afraid. I—I’m adopted, you see. My adoptive parents died in a car crash.” She blinked back unexpected tears. They’d been her birth parents, her only parents, and she hadn’t been there to heal them because she didn’t have a telephone and hadn’t even known about the accident until four days later. They might have lived, with magic.

The librarian softened. “Ah, and you want to find your birth family. Do you have the adoption records?”

“No—I found out after they’d died that they took me in from a friend of a friend of theirs, um, unofficially. I think she was—in trouble, you know, and they hadn’t been able to have children of their own…” Her face was burning, but she forced herself to finish the story. “All I have is a few names and addresses of people whose letters I found while clearing out their papers. I’m hoping one of them is an uncle or something. I know it’s not much…”

“Do you have an approximate date range for your search?”

“Forties and fifties, I think?”

“Good. Now, there are the newspapers, of course. We have a large collection on microfilm. Then there are the vital records, church registers, wills and probates, burial records. The 1881 Census records are available now if you find you need to go back that far.”

Lily revised her opinion of the librarian as the woman gave a concise lesson on the various types of records and which the library could provide today. Lily scribbled it all down. She could use these tips for the rest of the names on her list.

“I’ll have the materials paged. Have you used microfilm before? Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll show you how to use the reader.”

The librarian didn’t mention Harry, thank goodness. Lily decided to start with the print records to give time for any vague impressions of him to fade. Keeping Harry calm and confined to his blanket spread under the long table, however, was hard enough that she feared it might overcome the charm’s effects. He crawled out and jumped up with his arms spread. “Fly!”

“Not right now, sweetheart.” They didn’t have his toy broom anyway. “Don’t you want your lion? What about your blocks?” If he didn’t calm down, she might have to Obliviate the other patrons and run for it. Or should she risk giving him a mild sleeping draught?

Harry pouted and slunk back to his blanket. He looked mutinous as he babbled and banged two blocks together.

After a few moments, he settled down. Lily breathed a sigh of relief. She flipped through the records for any remotely plausible Saunders. None, however, seemed to be the right age. Maybe he’d lived entirely within the wizarding world.

She opened the first newspaper index. Saunders… Saunders…

Harry made another bid for freedom, and once again she barely managed to corral him.

In the end, she noted every reference to every Saunders and grimly shifted to the microfilm reader station with the librarian’s help.

Nothing, nothing, and nothing. There was an amusing note in one issue about a Melvin Saunders who had taken his neighbor’s car apart and reassembled it on a shed roof, but nothing in the (admittedly brief) description suggested he might have a wizard in the family. Though how could she tell? Once again, Lily doubted both her plan and her ability to carry it out. Hogwarts hadn’t remotely prepared her for this. So much for the best school in the world.

She pushed her fingers through her hair in frustration. The only thing she’d found so far was that Manchester criminals were more imaginative than she would have expected.

Maybe she should just steal a sniper rifle and shoot You-Know-Who. It was no sillier than any other idea. Though it was silly. James would roll his eyes. _Honestly, Lils,_ he’d say, _if Muggle weapons could kill the most powerful Dark wizard of all time, someone would have done it ages ago_.

But had anyone tried? Lily snatched Harry as he dashed away yet again and settled him in her lap. They’d all focused on overcoming magical defenses with magical attacks. Had You-Know-Who thought to make himself impervious to bullets?

Shooting might not kill him, but even weakening him would help. Maybe his own followers would finish him off, hoping to take his place. Or free themselves. Sev couldn’t be the only one who’d decided their precious Dark Lord was actually the biggest threat to their survival.

She bundled up Harry and his things.

“Any luck?” the librarian asked.

“I don’t think so, I’m afraid. But I’m still sorting through their papers and might find more names. Thank you so much for your help.”

“Don’t give up so quickly! You might have better luck in Rochdale itself. Let me get you pointed in the right direction.”

The librarian looked at Harry with a small frown as they turned to leave, as if noticing him for the first time and perturbed that she could have missed seeing him for so long. Lily thanked her profusely and rushed away before the librarian could ask any dangerous questions.

Searching in Rochdale took her nearly the rest of the time before her next appointment with Sev, since she’d realized she needed to time her research to coincide with Harry’s naps. At this rate, it could take years. Worse, geography was important when traveling in the Muggle world, and she’d discovered how rubbish she was at geography. Just finding Tywin and Ross-on-Wye on the map she copied from an atlas took ages. She couldn’t Apparate directly to places she’d never been, and of course Floo travel was out of the question. She’d have to get in the air and Apparate as far ahead as she could see, then do it again, until she was close enough.

When Sev gave her an even longer list of names for 1946-1953, she thought it really might be hopeless: Alexander Apeldoorn, Livius Campbell, Faustus Olhouser, Ewan Shafiq—“One of the ‘Sacred Twenty-Eight’ families,” he noted—Aaron Spitznogle, and Ah-Yin Wong.

“This might take a while,” she cautioned. “I’m… somewhat limited in how quickly I can check Muggle sources.”

He looked at her intently through the water. “I understand you have more records to sift through than I do. I think it’s worth the effort.”

“I know. It’s just so _frustrating_. And I’m still trying to figure everything that would meet your ‘technical’ definition of Dark magic. Wouldn’t it include the Patronus Charm?”

“It does. And the Boggart-Banishing Charm, and Apparition.”

“And the Animagus transformation? Is Professor McGonagall—”

“She’s registered and she’s one of Dumbledore’s followers, so no one will call it Dark magic in public. Not these days, when it’s more a synonym for ‘illegal’ or ‘scary’ or a political affiliation than anything based on magical theory.”

_I’m learning how they think_ , she told herself. If only she’d found anything to contradict it absolutely. There had to be a logical flaw somewhere, or something he hadn’t mentioned. Dumbledore wouldn’t misrepresent an entire branch of magic like this. Nor could her housemates all have been wrong. Sirius’s family had practiced the Dark Arts for centuries; he would have known if it were just a risky and poorly-delineated branch of magic. Though Sirius did tend to say whatever was opposite his family’s views. Not that she could blame him… but it might mean she couldn’t trust him to have given her a full and nuanced explanation.

And thinking of Dumbledore—“Alchemy?”

“That too. And the spell we’re using to speak right now, before you ask.” He looked at her searchingly, as if waiting for her to scream at him and cancel the spell.

_Dumbledore is a Dark wizard. Am I a Dark witch? Oh God, James would be furious. But then, was he a Dark wizard without knowing it? No, this is so wrong._

“I wondered,” she said, choking down her protests. She needed his help. Besides, she’d found the building blocks for this spell in her schoolbooks. It couldn’t be really _bad_.

He dipped his chin. “I’ve been working on an extension of the process so we can pass objects through. I think it’s ready to test. I have a short primer on the Dark Arts here which I’ve waterproofed—one of the standard works. I promise I won’t try to convert you to anything,” he added hurriedly. “But you said you wanted to understand it to fight it, and we both know our Defense classes were useless.”

Lily sighed. “I did say that, didn’t I. What do I do?”

He outlined the process and concluded, “All you have to do is pick it up.”

He chanted a brief incantation while waving a smoking bundle of herbs over the water, tapped the water with his wand, then slowly lowered a black book into the basin—raised it, from her perspective. The water rippled. A corner of the book broke the surface. She snatched it up and clenched it in her hands. It was solid. Real.

“It worked! This is brilliant!” She caught herself and smothered her grin. They weren’t school friends playing with magic; he was the Death Eater who’d got her husband killed. She had to stick to business.

“The author’s politics are a bit, ah, _traditional_ , if you know what I mean, but the magical theory is sound enough. Is there anything else I can do besides the enrollment lists?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know that it’s possible to speed up Muggle searching. It’s enough to make me miss revising for exams.”

“Speaking of which, I have a lot of marking to do.” It was still unbelievable that he was teaching at Hogwarts. “We might need to set our next appointment farther out this time.”

“Given how long this is taking, that’s not a problem. Same time a week from now?”

“That should work. I’d better go.”

An impulse struck her. “Wait—Sev—I know You-Know-Who has enchanted himself against all sorts of magical attacks. Do you know whether he’s impervious to bullets?”

“Bullets?” he sneered. Arrogant bastard.

“Regular Muggle bullets,” she snapped. “Too fast to dodge, loads more force than any hand-to-hand weapon, can be fired from a mile off if you’re good.”

A mile might be an exaggeration; she couldn’t remember the technical details from the one time her grandfather had talked about his war service as a sniper. She’d only been seven when he died. But it might be true, and it sounded impressive.

“He—” Sev paused. “You know, I don’t know. He’s definitely resistant to common weapons like swords and Bludgers and fire, but I hadn’t thought of bullets.”

Lily resisted the urge to smirk in triumph at having won the point. Mostly. “Did he think of it, though, that’s what’s important.”

He stared somewhere out of her field of vision for a long moment. “I don’t know that I’ll be able to find out, but that’s actually not as absurd as it first sounds. Wizards often overlook Muggle methods. Maybe he has too.”

#

She’d only managed to cross two more names off her list by the next meeting, and Dumbledore had resumed sending Patronuses urging her to return. She was starting to worry that _he_ might track her down. The Dark Arts book seemed to stare at her accusingly for not having found the courage to open it yet. And the Muggle world was still a foreign country. To Lily’s dismay, she found herself looking forward to her next appointment with Sev just to have someone familiar to talk to about magic with. 

“I’ve gone back to 1940,” he said, “and found a _Prophet_ article which might be relevant.”

“Let me have the list first.”

She wrote down Theodore Bain, Agathon Paternoster, Cassius Richelieu, Thomas Marvolo Riddle, and David Benjamin Zilberschlag with their last known addresses.

“What’s the news, then?”

“In 1943, a girl died at school. It looks like they tried to hush it up. I went out drinking with Hagrid and the subject of safety at Hogwarts, ah, came up. He had a few things to say about how much better it is now than when the Chamber of Secrets was opened.”

“The what?”

“Legend has it that Salazar Slytherin built a secret chamber with a monster that would emerge one day to kill Muggle-borns.” He grimaced at her expression. “I know. Hagrid said that the Heir of Slytherin opened the Chamber during his schooldays, and then insisted he was not the Heir and it couldn’t possibly have been Aragog’s fault since he never went near the bathroom where the girl died. Aragog being an Acromantula he’d been raising in the dungeons.”

“You’re joking. Who would suspect _Hagrid_ of being the Heir of Slytherin?” Raising an Acromantula, of course. No one would be surprised at that. “What does that even mean, anyway? Slytherin probably has hundreds of descendants, but none of them direct through the male line or the surname wouldn’t have died out. Surely dozens of people have equally valid claims. How could any one of them be ‘the’ heir?”

Sev shrugged. “The obvious suspect when someone dies is the boy with a Class XXXXX dangerous creature. But even Dumbledore couldn’t have protected him from a murder charge if they’d had anything tying the Acromantula to the girl’s death. Don’t ask me to explain the heir business. As I’m so often reminded, I don’t understand how purebloods see the world.”

His bitter tone cheered Lily. He’d finally realized his friends had just been using him all along and didn’t want to defend them anymore. That was more than she’d dared hope.

“At least now we know why he was expelled.” A thought struck Lily. “Wait—did you say she died in a bathroom?”

“Is that significant?”

“Moaning Myrtle. She haunts one of the girls’ loos. What if she’s the girl who died there? Can you question her? Er, discreetly.”

They hadn’t discussed Dumbledore’s involvement, or lack thereof, in their investigation. It seemed treasonous to say anything that cast suspicion on him out loud, but…

“I think so,” he said cautiously. “It’s obviously best for security if no one knows what avenues we’re pursuing. And… I expect there’s no need to trouble the headmaster unless we find something.” His tone left no question he was suppressing a lot of doubts and questions.

“Exactly. He’s so busy already.” Lily swallowed. How had she ended up in conspiracy with a Death Eater behind Dumbledore’s back? Every step had seemed logical at the time. Was this how people turned to the Dark Side? “I should mention, though… you said some people think You-Know-Who was one of Grindelwald’s followers?”

“What of it?”

“When I was in Godric’s Hollow, Bathilda Bagshot came over for tea a lot, before it got too dangerous to have visitors from outside the Order. The last time, she started talking about how the Dumbledores used to be her neighbors, and how often ‘young Albus’ visited the summer her great-nephew Gellert Grindelwald stayed with her. They were inseparable, according to her.”

Sev’s face wavered in the basin. “He… _what?_ ”

“I know. Apparently, they had a falling out and never spoke again until their duel in ‘45. But… if we strike out, we might have to ask him after all. If he knows about Grindelwald’s followers, I mean. He might know something without realizing its significance.” Because he wouldn’t hold it back if he did realize. He wouldn’t.

Sev’s brow creased. “You might be right.” But he looked troubled.

“Who else was at Hogwarts back then? Professor McGonagall might be old enough. Though it’s hard to think how anyone could question her without her realizing it.”

“Slughorn. I don’t know where he’s spending his retirement. We could try to track him down, though. He always liked you; he might be willing to talk.”

Contacting anyone else in the wizarding world could break her cover. But she might not have a choice. “All right. I’ll keep working on the Muggle side of things, and you let me know if you find out where Slughorn lives.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you prioritize your list? I managed to confirm that Theodore Bain was a pureblood, which makes him a less likely candidate, but I don’t know about the rest.”

“Mm.” Lily scanned her notes. “One of—my sources—mentioned that sometimes peculiar names are family names, so those can be easier to track. I know that’s true. James’s father was named Fleamont because it was his mother’s maiden name.”

_“Fleamont?”_ Sev snickered.

“I _know!_ ” Well, it _was_ funny. She couldn’t help that. “You’re probably a better judge of wizarding names. Agathon, Marvolo, and Faustus sound strange to _me_ , but what do you think?”

He considered. “Agathon and Faustus sound old-fashioned, but I haven’t heard of the Paternosters or the Olhousers. They might be purebloods, but they might just as easily be the products of mixed marriages, or from newer families trying to pass as longer-established ones.”

Belatedly, Lily remembered that she was talking to a half-blood whose mother had named him Severus after her own father, who (from what Lily gathered) valued blood purity all the more because he barely qualified as a pureblood himself. And that Sev was touchy about it.

But if he was irritated at the reminder, he hid it well for a change. “I’ve never heard the name Marvolo. Certainly the Riddles aren’t in _Nature’s Nobility_.”

“That sounds like another promising combination. I’ll check those three names first.”

Lily’s head felt about to burst. Hagrid got expelled for raising a monster in the castle? There was secret chamber hiding another monster? Moaning Myrtle was murdered?

And she still had a toddler to raise and a dodgy class of magic to research on top of all these names. She picked up the book Severus had given her. _The Dark Arts: An Initiate's Guide_ , by Mortificus Rogue. Now there was a strange name if she’d ever heard one. Purebloods could be _such_ pompous arses.

But her eyelids felt like sandpaper and she was swaying on her feet. It would have to wait. She took a swallow of Dreamless Sleep potion. For a few hours, at least, she’d be free of any worries about evil wizards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay! The story is complete, but I have just enough ongoing wrist and arm pain from working at a computer all day that it's often better if I give my arm a rest rather than stay on the computer for fun.
> 
> Yes, Lily has Clark Kent glasses now. And according to science, it might even work! See the summary for the 2016 paper “Disguising Superman: How Glasses Affect Unfamiliar Face Matching” by Robin S.S. Kramer and Kay L. Ritchie (University of York, Department of Psychology) [here](https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1002/acp.3261).
> 
> Census records (not the data tables, but the actual records with names, addresses, etc.) for England and Wales are available a century after the census was taken. So in 1981, the 1881 census records would have just been opened. More information [here](https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/help-with-your-research/research-guides/census-records/#4-where-to-access-and-how-to-search-the-censuses).
> 
> Pause for a moment of silence in memory of the desperate person who tried to kill Voldemort with a Bludger.
> 
> If Voldemort was publicly calling himself the Heir of Slytherin in 1981, he could probably do so with reasonable confidence that it wouldn’t definitively tie him to a Hogwarts student in 1943, or to any specific place or family. There may be multiple people, in multiple countries, running around calling themselves the Heir of Slytherin. This would obscure any particular “Heir’s” origins. So there was an Heir of Slytherin at Hogwarts in 1943. So what? Even if they weren't a pretender, there was another Heir in 1923, and one in 1872, and one in Sweden in 1908, and then there’s that guy in Provence who has been bragging about it non-stop since 1965… Maybe a few obsessives know that the Gaunts had one of the better claims, but the Gaunts are all dead with no issue as far as anyone knows. Any recent “Heir of Slytherin” must be from some other family with a slightly more distant connection—if it is a real connection. Or perhaps he’s a spiritual heir rather than a genetic one. Who knows? (The other claimants probably still infuriate him. One day, he’ll make everyone believe he’s the realest Heir, so there!)


	5. A Riddle Wrapped in a Mystery Inside a Newspaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily finds a promising lead in a newspaper article about the mysterious deaths of the Riddle family. Slughorn might know more about missing former Head Boy Tom Riddle. Unfortunately, Severus discovers that Slughorn will be a very dangerous source to approach...

London was the most nerve-wracking city yet. Lily kept expecting a team of Aurors to swoop in and deliver her back to Dumbledore.

Or Azkaban. What if they thought _she’d_ killed James? Was there any evidence that You-Know-Who had even been there? The pureblood rumor mill would be vicious. _Savage mudblood shows her true colors._

Judging by how much he’d been fussing, Harry’s nerves were in no better state. Constantly moving about was making him anxious. Lily hoped he would stay asleep naturally long enough for her to get some work done, because she didn’t dare give him even the mildest sleeping draught—he’d had three doses this week already.

At least she was getting the hang of searching. At the London Metro Archives, she quickly located the death record of Agathon Paternoster, killed in the Blitz along with his mother and younger sister. At the Guildhall Library, she found a newspaper article confirming that his brother Demosthenes had survived to identify the bodies. Agathon might have faked his death and disappeared, but she’d cross him off provisionally.

London was unlikely to have news concerning a distant village of no account like Little Hangleton, but Harry was quiet, so she checked the newspaper indexes just in case.

Lily sat up straight, forgetting her other worries. Jackpot. She hurriedly scrolled through the reel. Harry stirred and rubbed his eyes just as she found the right spot.

> August 13, 1942—Residents of the sleepy village of Little Hangleton have been living in fear since the sudden and mysterious deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Edward Riddle and their son Thomas. The unhappy family were found on Wednesday morning, still seated around the dinner table in their evening clothes, without a mark on their bodies, expressions of terror on their faces. None of the team of doctors who examined the bodies could determine a cause of death…

She rushed to scribble every detail in her notebook before Harry woke fully. Thomas Riddle. He couldn’t be the Thomas Riddle who had left Hogwarts nearly three years later, but could he be the Muggle father You-Know-Who claimed to have? If Tom Junior had stayed with his mother in the wizarding world, the Muggle authorities might not have known about him. And murdering his Muggle family seemed like something You-Know-Who would do. If a wizard named Marvolo had ever lived nearby—

Harry’s cries interrupted her thoughts. “Fly! Fly!” He ran away before she could stop him and clambered onto a chair.

“Sweetheart, come to Mummy! We’ll go play and have a biscuit!”

“NO!” He jumped off the chair with a thud. The shock of landing made him wail.

The bookshelf nearest him shook several books to the floor. The other patrons looked up, startled.

_Oh, shit._

Lily shoved the notebook into her rucksack and scooped up the protesting Harry. There was no time to run for the exit. They’d been seen. She ducked into the stacks and spun on her heel, concentrating on an isolated valley she’d spotted while flying over the Peak District.

Harry screamed louder than ever when they reappeared in a freezing gale. She looked around for cover, and scrambled into the gap between two boulders.

“Shh, Harry, shh. Isn’t this a fun hiding place? It’s like a secret fort!” She patted his back desperately while casting Warming Charms.

 _Shit shit shit._ This wasn’t magic done safely in a private room or one of the invisible mind-altering spells the Ministry promoted as a civic duty. He’d done magic in full view of Muggles. The Obliviators might be there already. Would they get enough information to identify her? Now the Ministry would know she and Harry were out in public, in Muggle areas. They’d start keeping watch—and so would You-Know-Who’s agents within the Ministry.

No. The Muggles would report a bespectacled blonde with a little girl. They couldn’t trace that to her. And maybe the Muggles would chalk it up to a freak earthquake tremor. The Ministry might not even have noticed—they usually missed (or possibly ignored, if they thought the risks low enough) outbursts by wandless children.

Lily winced as she remembered she’d left the microfilm in the machine, focused on the article about the Riddles. Would anyone realize its significance?

“How about a biscuit? Let’s both have a chocolate biscuit.” They needed chocolate. Harry hiccupped and sniffled and tried to cram the whole biscuit in his mouth at once.

They had to lie low for a while, she decided. Did she have enough food in the rucksack? Maybe Sev could pass them tinned goods through the basin if they ran out.

It was nearly Christmas anyway, and the libraries would probably be closed. She and Harry could take a break and celebrate.

Without James.

If she didn’t stop this, she was going to start wailing herself and set off Harry again. She had to focus on where to go next.

#

After Lily stopped shaking, she Apparated them to a seaside town she’d passed through once and, miraculously, found a holiday leasing agency which set her up in a cottage on a bluff. She supposed it wasn’t the season for trips to the seaside, so maybe they were happy to have unexpected paying guests.

Dumbledore’s Patronus arrived just as she’d finished feeding Harry.

“I have just received a disturbing report about a young woman with an unnaturally talented child in a London library. This has gone on quite long enough. For your safety and that of your son, you must return to the safe house immediately.”

She was tempted. Running was hard—constantly looking over her shoulder, dodging thousands of people in the street and hoping none of them were magical, scrounging for Muggle money, oppressed by dreary and appallingly unsanitary lodgings, Harry’s anxiety rising over the daily changes. And she was running out of potions and ingredients. How much could Sev pass through their water portal without being caught pilfering? How closely did Dumbledore watch his pet Death Eater? Not to mention trying to care for Harry while doing daily research in public was enough to fray her nerves to the breaking point by itself. Harry deserved better than this.

But that was the sticking point. She had to make the world safe for Harry, and nothing anyone had done for the past twenty years had helped. This research might be their only lead.

And Dumbledore would oppose it—why else would he conceal whatever he knew? Unless he had just made up the story about You-Know-Who being in Slytherin, but that wouldn’t exactly restore her confidence in his leadership. What was he hiding? What damage did he think the secret would cause? What if he’d done even worse damage by keeping quiet?

She had to stick with the plan, at least for a bit longer.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but Harry and I are perfectly safe and are not traipsing around Muggle London.” Well, it was true _now_.

She had several hours before her next contact with Sev. She played with Harry until his bedtime, enjoying his delight now that she dared use magic to entertain him.

Once he’d finally drifted off to sleep, Lily settled down with a book on firearms she’d duplicated at a Birmingham library. (How fortunate that Muggle books didn’t have protections against Doubling Charms.) Probably best to focus on rifles to start. They would be most likely to have the precision and distance she needed.

At least, she guessed so. A single page was enough to show her just how little she knew about guns. She rubbed her eyes. It was all action this and safety that and a mess of numbers.

Right. This couldn’t be harder than calculating tricky proportions for a potion, could it? She could do this.

She’d managed to scribble down some ideas about targeting charms (to cast on the barrel, not the bullets, she decided, so the bullets would be truly non-magical weapons) by the time she’d set to contact Sev.

“Is everything still all right?” he asked, the circles under his eyes even darker now.

“Perfectly. Agathon Paternoster was killed in the Blitz, body identifiable. He might have faked it, but let’s assume he didn’t for now. I might have found a lead with Riddle.” She read him the newspaper article she’d copied down.

He looked interested at that. “I’ve found out a bit about Riddle myself. I thought to search the Trophy Room and saw his name. He received an award for unspecified ‘special services to the school’ in nineteen forty-three.”

“The year Moaning Myrtle was killed and that chamber supposedly opened?”

“Precisely. He was a prefect at the time, and disciplinary records show he was the one who reported Hagrid’s little pet.”

“Riddle might have honestly thought the Acromantula killed Myrtle.”

“Or he let out the other monster himself and framed Hagrid.”

“Or knew who did, and covered for them.”

Sev sighed. “It’s all speculation at this point. But I also discovered he was Head Boy later. He might have been in the Slug Club. If I can track down Slughorn, maybe he’ll be able to fill in some details.”

“Good idea. We can count on him remembering a talented Head Boy.”

“There’s one more thing. After what you said about family names, I did a quick skim through the older records. A Marvolo Gaunt attended in the 1890s, and he was from Little Hangleton, which seems significant in light of your discovery. There are announcements in the _Prophet_ for the births of his son Morfin and daughter Merope.”

Lily’s heart beat faster. “Could Merope have been our Tom Riddle’s mother?”

He nodded. “The Gaunts are one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Old Pureblood mother, Muggle father—it would fit.”

Something was nagging at Lily about the dates. What was—oh. “Dumbledore would have gone to Hogwarts around the same time as Marvolo, wouldn’t he?” Bathilda had talked about the “summer of ninety-nine,” when “young Albus” had just left school.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Do you think I should ask him about what we’ve found?” He sounded as doubtful as she felt.

“Well… we don’t have anything solid yet. Tom Riddle could have been someone You-Know-Who saw as a rival, and You-Know-Who killed him and his whole family. He does that, you know,” she couldn’t help adding.

Sev flinched. “Indeed. I also found an article about Faustus Olhouser I’d missed earlier. It seems he went to the Continent during the war to try to ‘help the war effort,’ side unspecified, and went missing. He may have died, of course, but I don’t think we can rule him out.”

Neither of them broke the silence that followed for several moments. Lily thought if she said anything more, they might not be able to avoid difficult topics.

“So, we won’t, ah, disturb the headmaster until we know more?” Sev finally said.

“Yes. Yes, I think that’s best.”

“He’s been very unsettled lately. He probably wouldn’t want to be bothered with such unsupported speculations.”

“I expect not.” Did he know Dumbledore was probably unsettled about her… well, it wasn’t really a defection. Whatever it was.

They would have to talk about the erumpent in the room at some point. Dumbledore had gone to school with someone who might have been You-Know-Who’s grandfather, and he’d been friends with Gellert Grindelwald. It could have been coincidence and youthful foolishness. But it could have been… she wasn’t ready to think what.

“I won’t be able to check any Muggle sources for a week or two, but I’ve acquired a book on guns. I’ll work on that.”

“I’ll see if I can find anything more at Hogwarts. Most of the students will be going home for the holidays soon, which should provide some welcome peace and quiet.”

They would have quiet, anyway. Lily doubted she would be at peace.

#

The basin swirled and glowed to signal a message the very next evening.

“I’ve found Slughorn.” Sev looked grim.

“Is he all right?”

He hesitated. “In a manner of speaking. I found out through Mulciber. He’s a specialist in the Imperius Curse these days. There’s been a need for another discreet brewer for the more, ah, _sensitive_ potions now that I’m unavailable.”

Lily tasted bile. What potions could be so horrible that Death Eaters couldn’t just buy them? And poor Professor Slughorn—he must have been enslaved as soon as he left Hogwarts.

She tried to keep her face impassive, but the way he flinched let her know she’d failed. Well, he should feel guilty. “And Mulciber knows that you know where Slughorn is now?”

“No. It seems he was too, ah, drunk to remember much of the evening.”

Too drugged or Obliviated, he meant. How could she work with someone who could do that to one of his friends? It suddenly struck her that the reason so many of the Death Eaters captured or killed had been Slytherins who’d overlapped with them at school wasn’t a coincidence or proof that Slytherins were the most attracted to You-Know-Who’s cause: it was because they were the ones Sev recognized. He’d betrayed his friends to their deaths.

Unclenching her jaw to speak took work. “So the professor would call your _friends_ as soon as I knocked on his door, then?”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Not necessarily. If he has any instructions besides the brewing, they’re probably to collect information about everyone in his network and report whenever Mulciber shows up. But it would be extremely risky. I don’t think you should go. We don’t even know that he knows anything.”

“Exactly. We don’t know. And we need to.”

“I could—”

“No, you were right the first time. He’s more likely to tell me than you, and I doubt he’d let you get close enough to dose his tea with a truth potion if it comes to that.” And she couldn’t trust Sev to tell her what Slughorn knew. “It has to be me. Where is he?”

“Lily, please don’t—”

“Just give me the address, _Snape_. I’ll find him myself if you don’t, and you know that will mean my taking even more risks. Do you want that on your conscience, if you have one?”

He looked stricken. Good.

“Tinworth,” he finally said. “He’s in Tinworth. A little cottage just outside town.”

#

Lily Apparated under the cloak to a spot along the cliffs. She’d come here with James and his friends once to watch the Falmouth Falcons training in their hidden pitch a few miles away. Mary Macdonald and her boyfriend had met up with them, and they’d all had a merry weekend.

What was Mary doing now, Lily wondered? They hadn’t even written each other in nearly a year. And not just because of the danger, she remembered with a guilty pang. They’d argued about something silly—Mary had been overly sensitive about some of James’s jokes and had made deeply unfair remarks about him in return (the jokes admittedly weren’t very funny, but Lily had explained that he didn’t mean anything by it, and that he was under a lot of stress because of the war and the new baby)—and by the time Lily had cooled off enough to remember that Mary’s brother had recently been murdered and she ought to make allowances, they’d decided it was too risky to write to anyone outside the Order for purely social reasons.

She ought to have remembered that from the beginning, though. Mary had never done anything to deserve being treated so unkindly. As soon as the war was over, she would find Mary and apologize, Lily resolved. There was another reason to take risks that might help end the war sooner.

Professor Slughorn’s cottage perched at the very edge of the cliff, overlooking the churning sea. It was smothered in climbing roses, which she suspected really ought to have stopped blooming like that by now.

She shivered in the freezing wind and ran through her plan one last time. She’d packed away her glasses and returned her hair to normal. It felt as strange to wear robes again as it first had to wear the jeans. Harry was bundled up to within an inch of his life, including a warm little hat covering his hair, and she’d changed one of his outfits from pink back to crimson. If Slughorn was questioned, he wouldn’t be able to tell the Death Eaters what disguise to look for.

That thought reminded her of the decision she had to make once she’d seen what she was dealing with. She knocked at the door before she could lose her nerve.

Professor Slughorn opened it and stared at her blankly for a moment. Then his face rose into a smile.

“Lily, my dear! This is a surprise. How in Merlin’s name did you find me? Come in, come in. It’s a beastly day. But seriously, how did you track me down?”

She pasted on her cheeriest smile. “Don’t worry, Professor, it really is me. Remember in my fourth year when I asked you about Vanishing Potions after class? You never told when Rosier’s books vanished after he spilled ink on them.”

He chuckled. “That was a clever bit of brewing. Sixth year work, at least. You always were a natural. Here, have a seat. I’ll put the kettle on.” He ushered her into a sitting room that sprouted plush velvet armchairs and ottomans like toadstools. She sank into an emerald-green armchair, wondering how she would get out again. “And this must be little Harry!”

Harry buried his face in her shoulder.

“He’s been a little shy since…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“I heard. Such a tragedy. So young. Please allow me to express my deepest sympathies.”

Lily's sniffles were entirely genuine.

After conjuring her a handkerchief, the professor excused himself and bustled off to the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later, floating a tea service before him.

“Now, my dear, what brings you here today? I thought you were in hiding.”

“I am. But I’m working on the research side of the war effort, and you’re probably the only person who can help me with one particular question.”

Slughorn beamed. He’d always liked being useful. “And what might that be?”

“I’m looking into You-Know-Who’s background.”

The teacup he’d been holding fell and shattered. His face was gray.

“What makes you think I’d know anything about—I would never associate with—”

“Oh no, nothing like that!” Lily reassured him, wishing someone could reassure _her_. He obviously wouldn’t tell her anything the normal way; he’d probably been ordered not to, and was frightened enough of what people might think not to want to resist. “Reparo.”

She shifted Harry and re-poured the tea, letting her long sleeve drape over the cup. This was the tricky bit. It was only Aquaveritas—a mild truth potion, nothing harmful. Just enough to get him to open up.

She prattled on to reassure and distract him. “It’s just that you taught at Hogwarts for such a long time, and you might be able to tell me about some of the students who, well, disappeared after they left school. People You-Know-Who might have recruited and killed if they displeased him, or rivals he murdered. If I can learn about them, maybe I can figure out something about him in the early days, when he might not have been so cautious.” She gave him her most imploring look. “Can you help me, Professor? I know it’s clutching at straws, but I’m desperate to find something. Anything. For Harry’s sake.”

He softened, though he still looked wary. “But surely Albus…”

“Dumbledore didn’t teach nearly as many students as you did, and everyone knows you’re the best person to ask when it comes to knowing people.”

“If that’s all…”

“That’s all.”

He gave a shuddering sigh and took a sip of tea. Good. “How can I help?”

She reached into her pocket. “I have a list of some people who disappeared. What can you tell me about them?”

“Hm, let’s see. Aaron Spitznogle—he went to rescue some relatives on the Continent, died in the process. Saved a niece, though. Poor fellow. He did some clever spellwork in his day. Ewan Shafiq moved to Zurich. They have a top-notch Healing research center. He wrote to me about some developments in ocular regeneration they’ve made. David Zilberschlag, no idea what happened to him. He might be one of the early victims, poor boy. He was always researching protective enchantments to cast on Muggle homes. Might have been seen as a threat. Decent brewer, too.” He ran through the list with similar comments for each name.

Except one.

“And Thomas Riddle? I heard he was Head Boy.”

Professor Slughorn shifted in his armchair. “Hm, well. Not much to say about Tom.”

“Please,” she pressed. “Anything might help.”

The professor gulped his tea. “Well. He was a brilliant student. Raised in a Muggle orphanage, but he must have had wizarding background. Not because of his skill, you understand—you’ve taught me better than that!” His smile looked wavery. “But he hinted he was an unacknowledged bastard of some great family or other. A more common story than you’d think. And he showed up one year with a Hallows Quester’s ring. Only the old families go haring off after legendary relics. Must have been an heirloom.”

“And once he left school?”

“Went to work in a shop. Somewhere in Knockturn Alley, I think. Some say he was hiding from something. Maybe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was after him even then. He truly was a brilliant student.”

But something in the way he wouldn’t meet Lily’s gaze prompted her to press again. “You seem bothered about him.”

“Oh, it’s just the thought of so many young lives lost. Horrible business.”

“Are you sure there wasn’t anything… strange, while he was in school? Something that might have made him a target?” She patted Harry’s back. He wriggled and turned, restless.

“Oh… I doubt it’s anything…” His eyes looked glazed, and one eyelid started twitching.

She hadn’t brewed the potion wrong, had she?

“It was always peculiar how Albus never liked the boy. Everyone else did. He was… charming. Personable.”

“That is odd. Dumbledore never said why?”

“No, nothing. And the boy tried to help during that nasty business when that girl died. He got the wrong culprit, of course, but no one could blame him for the mistake. No one,” he repeated, still shifty.

“Was there anything else?”

He looked even more dazed—alarmingly so—and now his hands were twitching too. “He asked about… something no decent wizard would show too much interest in. Natural to be curious, of course.”

“Of course. Was it something You-Know-Who wouldn’t want anyone else to know about?” She had better drink some of her tea too or he might start getting suspicious.

And it did seem to reassure him, though he was still behaving most peculiarly. “Albus had the books removed from the library. Too dangerous. He couldn’t have learned about them at school.”

“Books about what? Please, Professor, it’s very important.”

“About… about… Horcruxes. Can’t say more. Why… shouldn’t have said…”

What had she done? She _knew_ she’d brewed the potion correctly. Was he trying to fight the curse?

Damn. She really didn’t have a choice now. “I’m really, really sorry about this, Professor.” She pulled the cloak out of her pocket and threw it around her and Harry, then raised her wand and focused on the time since just before she knocked on the door. “Obliviate!”

He slumped in his chair, still conscious, but oddly blank. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Panic rose in Lily’s chest and clawed at her throat.

She Vanished the tea and the second teacup. For his safety, no one could know she had been here. She tiptoed to the door, fighting the urge to run, and sneaked out as quietly as she could.

She felt sick and dizzy as she stumbled out into the frigid air. Had she just destroyed the professor’s mind? He’d always been so good to her, even when she was a first year of no background and an accent not quite up to standard yet. He’d even rethought his life-long belief that purebloods were more magically talented than Muggle-borns because of her. “If you want a job with St. Mungo’s or one of the big-name apothecaries, just send me an owl!” he’d said more than once. He would have done it, too.

Lily nearly fell as she spun on her heel outside the gate.

Pain lanced her leg when they popped back into being near the rented cottage. She stumbled through the door. What was happening?

She saw the blood once she pulled the cloak off. It was a deep gash. _Splinched. I’ve splinched myself. I’ve never splinched myself before. Harry!_

Harry was screaming, but she couldn’t find any blood on him. Thank God. She hadn’t hurt her baby.

The room was swaying. _Can’t… have to focus…_ What had she been planning to do next? She sat—fell, really—on the floor. Harry grabbed her face. “Mama?”

_Patronus… Dumbledore…_

She gritted her teeth and raised her wand. Her first attempt resulted in a pathetic puff of mist. No, she had to make this work. She tried again.

“I ran into Professor Slughorn. Something’s wrong. I think he’s fighting a curse. Please help him! He’s in Tinworth.”

She was so sleepy. That wasn't a side-effect of splinching. _Dosed me. He dosed me with something…_

The floor was hard and splintery under her face. Everything was far away.

She succumbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In HBP chapter 17, Dumbledore says Tom killed his family in the summer of his “sixteenth year.” Which means he was fifteen. (Your first year of life is from age 0 to 1, your second year from age 1 to 2, etc. When you have completed 15 years—i.e., on your 15th birthday—you enter your 16th year. It’s like how years starting with 19 are in the 20th century.) Tom was born on December 31, 1926, so he was 15 the summer of 1942, between his fourth and fifth years at Hogwarts. Trust Dumbledore to say it this way rather than “the summer he was fifteen.”
> 
> Tom Sr.’s father is also named Thomas according to the headstone in the Goblet of Fire movie, but the movies often diverge from the books, so I wouldn’t consider it set in stone. (Sorry.) I chose “Edward” to keep the number of Tom Riddles to a less-confusing minimum.
> 
> Slughorn can leap out of the bath and fake his own death in under two minutes in 1996. You have to wonder when and why he felt the need to learn that skill.
> 
> I’m using Whitehound’s [speculations about the location of Tinworth](http://members.madasafish.com/~cj_whitehound/Fanfic/Location_Location/Tinworth.htm), which probably puts it close enough to Falmouth that the Falcons’ hypothetical secret practice pitch could be considered “a few miles” from both towns, at least as far as mushy wizarding understanding of geography goes. And there must be permanent secret practice pitches, or where would teams practice? It would be awfully difficult to locate them a hundred miles from any Muggle town, so they must make exceptions to the law. (Even the Quidditch World Cup pitch in a remote area is in fact a Muggle campground at which the Muggle owners are allowed to continue working, so even the Ministry doesn't respect the spirit of the hundred-mile rule.) Traditional pitch locations may be grandfathered in despite Muggle encroachment.
> 
> The fact that we never heard about Lily’s female friends outside glimpses in school memories suggests that she either lost touch with or fell out with them between the end of fifth year and her death. Given that she was living in lockdown during a war when anyone might betray you, this isn’t as suspicious as it might otherwise be… but it’s still a little odd. Mix an existing temper, unusual stress, and James being “suspicious” that all Lily’s friends were “trying to drive [them] apart,” and you could get a few unfortunate arguments. Under normal circumstances, maybe she’d have repaired those relationships eventually, but in canon, she never got the chance.
> 
> Something tells me that the Imperius Curse compelling someone not to reveal anything harmful to Voldemort or the Death Eaters mixed with a potion that pressures him to talk would be trouble. Look what happened when Crouch tried to fight the curse!
> 
> I invented Aquaveritas instead of using Veritaserum, since more than one kind of truth potion exists (Umbridge asks Snape for his “strongest” truth potion). Aquaveritas is weaker but quicker (Veritaserum takes a moon cycle) and easier to brew.


	6. Dumbledore's Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reeling from the disaster at Professor Slughorn's cottage, Lily wonders if she ought to give up and let Dumbledore handle things. But his schemes haven't avoided collateral damage either, so would that be any better? And if that Horcrux-thing Slughorn mentioned is important, _someone_ has to follow it up...

Leg… throbbing…

“Mama, Mama!”

_Harry. Harry’s in danger._ Where was her wand?

“Mama!”

She had to get up. She pried her eyes open.

Fuzzy shapes wavered before her. She was on the floor. It was dark, and so cold her fingers hurt.

“Mama!” Harry wrapped his arms around her neck, sniffling.

“Mummy’s okay,” she croaked. She pulled herself up onto her elbow. There it was—her wand had rolled under a chair. Thank goodness Harry hadn’t picked it up.

She managed to pull herself up to reach the light switch, then turned her attention to Harry. It took a few minutes to persuade him to raise his face so she could wipe away the tears and snot. Once she thought her hands were steady enough, she raised her wand and Vanished the blood. So much blood.

“Everything’s going to be okay, sweetheart.”

Was it? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember.

She’d seen Professor Slughorn. He was under the Imperius Curse. He’d dosed her with something. A sleeping draught, probably, much stronger than the ones she’d brewed for Harry. Had he contacted Mulciber from the kitchen? And that awful blank look—what had she done to him? She couldn’t remember whether she’d sent Dumbledore a Patronus begging him to help the professor or merely dreamed she had.

As if summoned, his silver phoenix shot through the window. “Lily, are you injured? I need to know that you and Harry are safe.”

He must have sent one already. Or more. What could she possibly say?

“Sorry I couldn’t reply earlier. We’re safe and hidden. Is Professor Slughorn all right?”

His response came almost immediately. “I found him dazed but unharmed. He’d been placed under the Imperius Curse, and someone had recently Obliviated him. I have moved him to Hogwarts, where I’m certain Poppy and Severus will have him right in no time. Now, please return to the cottage.”

Disaster. Absolute disaster. He must suspect something. And what if Professor Slughorn _wasn’t_ all right? She wiped Harry’s face again and kissed him while she considered her options.

The hard truth was that they couldn’t keep running. Dumbledore would probably find them, if the Death Eaters didn’t first. And however good her plan might have been in theory, she obviously wasn’t able to execute it without hurting innocent people.

On the other hand, look how many people had got hurt under Dumbledore’s leadership. With no end in sight. (What _had_ he known about Riddle, and why hadn’t he told anyone? Why hadn’t he stopped Sev from taking the prophecy to You-Know-Who?) Giving up might be just as bad, or worse, than carrying on.

Maybe if she could delay long enough to make a new plan… and not make such a mess of it this time…

“I don’t think Harry’s ready to travel yet. We’re safe, so I’d rather wait a few hours before moving him. We’ll come back soon.”

She crawled to the rucksack and rummaged through it for her potions kit. There, essence of dittany. She coughed as green smoke billowed from the wound.

But at least the bleeding stopped. She Vanished the fresh blood. Now she could at least take care of Harry, even if she didn’t know what to do about anything else.

“Harry, do you need a fresh nappy?” The way he was burrowed into her shoulder, she felt rather than saw his nod. “We’ll get you a bath and a nappy, and then we’ll have tea!”

He didn’t want to let go of her, so it took twice as long as usual to get him bathed and dressed. At least it seemed to calm him, though he kept patting her and asking, “Okay?”

“Mummy’s okay.” She cuddled with him in the lumpy rocking chair and opened a package of chocolate biscuits.

This was no way for a child to grow up. Hidden away practically since birth, with her and James snapping at each other more and more as their movements grew more restricted. Then she’d dragged him back and forth across Britain for weeks through crowds of strangers, and he couldn’t understand why his daddy was gone.

He must have been exhausted, because he dropped off before he’d even finished his biscuit. Lily shifted, and Harry whimpered in his sleep. Not ready for the cot, then. He’d probably got too used to sleeping with her, as she’d let him do more and more since Halloween, as much for her comfort as for his. She sighed and reached into the rucksack with her free hand. Reading might offer some guidance, or at least calm her roiling thoughts into something she could make sense of.

The book on the Dark Arts came into her hand first. She glared at it, then steeled herself and opened it. Now more than ever, she couldn’t afford to be ignorant.

> Many and ever-changing are the Dark Arts, and many are those who have failed to fathom the secrets of this most ancient and honorable of magical disciplines. Few who are not heir to generations of magical breeding have ever made the slightest contribution to the field.

“A bit traditional, right,” she muttered, but read on.

The introduction said much what Sev had: Dark magic involved life-force, belief, and lasting effects. If you peeled away the odious comments about everyone not “magical enough” for the author’s taste, it was a lot like the magical theory in her schoolbooks, with a few gaps filled in. That willpower or a specific emotional state made certain spells more effective or longer-lasting was true, as she knew from experience. Other spells required you to visualize the results perfectly, while the most basic needed even less precision. That supported the author’s model of magic as a spectrum with spells you could perform nearly mindlessly at one end and those that needed strong intent on the other. The explanation of how symbol and ritual could strengthen belief to power new spells meshed with what little she knew from more reputable sources. (Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, for example, had launched into long, technical explanations when she asked how people discovered which wand movements and incantations produced which effects. They’d only ever half-answered the question, but they had talked a lot about symbolism and synecdoche and the power of repetition.) The claim that many common, non-Dark spells were simplified developments of earlier, Dark spells was a shock, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to contradict it.

Lily’s unease grew as she turned the pages. It all made entirely too much sense. But while experimenting with potentially chaotic forces in ways which could cause permanent damage certainly sounded _risky_ , that wasn’t the same as inherently, utterly evil. So why did Dumbledore and the Ministry encourage that belief? Whatever the reason, Lily very much resented it. Not to mention, there were already so many legitimate things to fight about that manufacturing more was just wicked.

She flipped ahead, scanning the chapter headings. _Ritual—Astronomical Influences—Runes and Other Symbolic Writing—Transportation and Communication—Transformations—Magic of the Mind_ (she shuddered at the thought of what revelations might lurk there) _—Immortality—_

Immortality?

> While true immortality has never yet been achieved, wizards of a certain caliber have always been drawn to this pinnacle of magical research. Who, after all, could resist the chance to put off the icy uncertainty of death and enjoy life’s delights for some years longer?
> 
> The most effective method yet discovered is the philosopher’s stone. Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, the only known still-living persons to have succeeded in the Great Work, are still spry after over six hundred years thanks to the Elixer of Life brewed with the aid of the stone. However, the process can take decades even for the most skilled alchemist, and few will ever attain the level of skill required, as evidenced by the centuries of failure to repeat the Flamels’ brilliant results.
> 
> The legendary Deathly Hallows are rightly regarded as a snare and a delusion. Some believe that rather than being given the Hallows by Death himself, the Peverell brothers created a powerful wand, an invisibility cloak, and a stone which could produce images of the beloved dead, and that the powers of the first two objects might enable a wielder to avoid death for longer than the usual span. However, their existence has never been proved, and it seems all too likely that the tales originate in little more than drunken wizards boasting about their wands.
> 
> Drinking unicorn blood will save a person on the brink of death, and may prolong life indefinitely if drunk regularly, but at the cost of incurring the unicorn’s curse: one who slays a unicorn will forever after be a victim of bad fortune. His every plan will turn awry, every step be dogged by terrible accidents. Anyone who associates with a unicorn-killer is liable to suffer secondary effects, so his friends and relations will soon abandon him and he will live a lonely, miserable life. No sensible wizard would attempt this method.
> 
> Herpo the Foul’s invention of the Horcrux is yet worse and will not be discussed here.

Horcrux. That was the funny word Professor Slughorn had mentioned, the thing Tom Riddle asked about. So it was a method of prolonging one’s life, perhaps indefinitely. Something so terrible that even a bigoted Dark wizard wouldn’t touch it. That sounded right up You-Know-Who’s alley.

On the table, the basin glowed. She shifted Harry onto her hip and rose to peer into its depths.

“Lily? Are you all right? I should never have given you that address.” Sev’s face was chalk white. Was he afraid because she’d nearly been captured? Or because she _hadn’t_ been? It could have been a set-up.

“Never mind me. Is Professor Slughorn all right? Dumbledore said you were helping Madam Pomfrey.”

“We’ve given him Dreamless Sleep while we work out a course of treatment. Can you tell me what happened, exactly?”

“I slipped him a little Aquaveritas. Just a little, and you know I brewed it correctly! But it made him confused and twitchy. He started noticing something was wrong, and then I had to—” Lily broke off, appalled to realize she was trying to justify herself to a Death Eater.

“Obliviate him. That’s why I was so worried. I knew you wouldn’t do that to Slughorn if the situation weren’t desperate. Perhaps the Aquaveritas conflicted with the Imperius Curse somehow. If he was trying to tell you while under orders not to reveal anything against the Dark Lord’s interests… This helps, Lily. We’ll be able to heal him.”

“And his memory? I didn’t—cast it too strong? Please tell me I haven’t broken his mind. It’s supposed to be safe, isn’t it?”

He hesitated. “Well—usually. Very strong Memory Charms can weaken the ability to form new memories. But that hasn’t happened,” he hurriedly reassured her. “He’ll make a full recovery. It looks like he’s been Obliviated several times recently, by the way. I assume the rest was Mulciber’s work.”

Her stomach churned. She’d been so disgusted at Sev for Obliviating his friends, but that hadn’t stopped her from doing the same. At least the people he’d Obliviated were murderers. She’d hurt one of their victims.

But he’d said the professor would be okay. She clung to that. And at least it hadn’t been for nothing. “He did tell me something that might be important. About Tom Riddle.”

“Oh?”

“He was a brilliant student, but he went to work in a shop in Knockturn Alley before disappearing without a trace. And Professor Slughorn was afraid of him, I think. He’d asked about something called a Horcrux, and apparently no right-thinking wizard would want to know about that. Your book agrees,” she added. “It was in the chapter on immortality. What’s even more terrible than killing a unicorn?”

He frowned. “That’s the only reference I’ve ever seen to it. There’s nothing in the library. Oh, come on, you would have looked too.”

“He said Dumbledore had all the books about it removed ages ago. And another thing. He said Dumbledore never liked Tom, even though everyone else did.”

“Strange.” He looked as uncertain as she felt.

Lily took a deep breath. “I… I have a bit of a confession. I haven’t just been keeping my research quiet from Dumbledore. I also ran from the new safe house he set up for me. I just couldn’t sit there waiting for You-Know-Who to track us down again, and Dumbledore hadn’t told me things he really should have, and…” She trailed off, not certain how to explain it now. It had seemed to make sense at the time.

Sev’s eyes widened. “No wonder he’s been in such a foul mood. Do you mean you’ve been on your own all this time?”

Oh, she still wasn’t thinking clearly! She’d slipped into thinking of him as her friend, and as a result, she’d told a Death Eater that she was unprotected. And now he could report to You-Know-Who that she’d discovered his secret as well. Stupid, stupid. She couldn’t trust _anyone_.

But maybe she could trust Sev and Dumbledore to watch each other. As long as at least one of them found her useful, he’d prevent the other from disappearing her. She hoped.

Dumbledore had been young when he befriended Grindelwald, had fallen out with him after only a couple of months, and had gone on to defeat him, Lily told herself. He’d spent his life opposing Dark wizards. Or at least, the bad ones. It was all so confusing. But hiding books about Horcruxes probably meant he was trying to stop people from doing something even Mortificus Rogue thought was horrible, so he probably really was trying to defeat Voldemort, even if he’d made some mistakes along the way. And he was one of the most powerful wizards in the world. Defeating Voldemort would be easier with his help.

“I mean that we’re going back straightaway. I can’t keep running. And I think we’ve found enough to take to him now. He can’t hide what he knows anymore. Then we can make some real progress against You-Know-Who. It’s just… what do we say?”

#

She Apparated without splinching herself this time, thank Merlin. Harry only whimpered. He was getting used to this. How awful.

Aberforth opened the back door to the pub wearing a grubby dressing gown. “Hurry up so you don’t let the snow in. At least my brother will stop pestering me,” he grumbled. “Popping into my fire every night to find out whether any of my customers mentioned catching you. Sure you know what you’re doing, girl? You could try Canada. I hear it’s easy to get lost there.”

Dumbledore loomed over her when she stepped out of the fire into his office. His eyes blazed with cold fury. She stepped back, only to bump against the mantel.

“Lily. Where have you been? I can’t believe you would be so irresponsible as to risk your life and your child’s for some foolish notion about keeping moving—”

“We need to talk.”

Right on cue, Sev glided through the door. “Headmaster. Mrs. Potter.”

Lily gave him a chilly once-over. It wasn’t an act—not really—and they couldn’t seem too well-coordinated or the whole conversation would be derailed by Dumbledore’s questions. It shouldn’t be hard. In person, Sev looked less like her childhood friend and more like a dark, untrustworthy stranger.

Now Dumbledore looked wary. “May I ask what this is about?”

Lily fixed him with her most determined stare. “Tell me about Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

He started as if he’d seen the dead rise. “Where did you hear that name?”

“He’s You-Know-Who, isn’t he? He killed his Muggle family while still in school and disappeared a few years later. And then returned with a new face and a new name.”

Dumbledore looked from her to Sev with an unreadable expression. “Why don’t we all sit down. It has been a long day.”

Her skin crawled on the side nearest Sev. Dumbledore’s probing stare wasn’t much better. She was nearly surrounded.

“The two of you have been in contact, if I’m not mistaken. Which is very surprising under the circumstances. Would you care to explain?”

She couldn’t let him get away with stalling. “I needed the names of Hogwarts alumni who had disappeared, and you were shutting me out of everything. I did what I had to.”

“To what purpose, pray tell?”

“To search for a weakness in You-Know-Who’s past. You know something. Why are you holding back?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps it is time. Yes, Voldemort was once Tom Riddle. How in Merlin’s name did you pick his from a list?”

“Muggle newspapers. I found a story about the Riddle family all dying at once without any marks on them. That sounds like the Killing Curse.”

“What a startling leap.”

“I considered Faustus Olhouser too.”

“Ah. Yes, he joined Grindelwald, and ended the worse for it. His parents did not wish his shame known. That’s still quite a slender reed on which to build this hypothesis.”

“She contacted me again after narrowing the list,” Sev said. “I found a record of a Marvolo Gaunt from Little Hangleton. His daughter Merope and the Riddle scion made plausible parents. Riddle’s name appeared in the disciplinary records as the person who turned Hagrid in for raising an Acromantula. The _Prophet_ had some interesting but surprisingly vague statements about a girl dying at school around that time.”

“It was a terrible tragedy. And you did not believe the Acromantula guilty?”

“Hagrid would still be in Azkaban if it had been. I also spoke to Myrtle.”

“How commendably thorough.”

“She was delighted someone had asked her story for the first time in years. Seeing giant yellow eyes and dying instantly doesn’t sound like any kind of spider.”

“No, indeed not.”

“Her report of hearing a boy’s voice hissing beforehand was also most illuminating. We know the Dark Lord is a Parselmouth.”

Dumbledore nodded. “He kept that quiet at school. The creature is almost certainly a basilisk. How remarkable. You have discovered in five weeks what no one else had in nearly forty years.”

“I expect anyone could have found out just as quickly if they’d looked. Maybe they _did_ , and they’re all dead now,” Lily said. “Maybe that’s what happened to Gaius Barrett.” Then she realized he’d referred to the basilisk in the present tense. “Wait. The basilisk isn’t still in the castle?”

“Safely tucked away in the Chamber of Secrets _under_ the castle, I trust. As we currently have no Parselmouths at school, that is a problem for another time.”

What a world they lived in when a basilisk was something to worry about later. “You’re right, we shouldn’t delay. Your turn. _Why didn’t you tell us any of this?_ ”

“If his followers knew the Dark Lord was a half-blood—” Sev demanded.

“Then he might lose a few of his more traditionally-minded recruits, but at the cost of casting suspicion upon all Muggle-raised witches and wizards. You know how little the general public trusts those not ‘brought up in the right ways,’ as they put it. A Muggle-raised Dark Lord could be catastrophic for Muggle-borns. I also feared for the safety of anyone who had known Tom Riddle. He has already murdered several who knew too much about his past.”

Lily frowned. She could see his point, but even so… “And you thought you couldn’t trust any members of the Order? Not even one who _is_ Muggle-born?”

Dumbledore sighed. “I still don’t see what use Tom Riddle’s schooldays could be. What weakness did you think you might uncover, to make you take such risks?”

She hated having to count on Sev for this part. But he stepped in perfectly.

“In fact, knowing his name did lead me to something we might find of interest. One of my sources remembered Riddle mentioning something called a Horcrux.”

That left Dumbledore thunderstruck. “A _Horcrux?_ ”

“I have been unable to determine its exact nature, other than that it relates to his supposed deathlessness. The library is curiously lacking in information. Perhaps you can enlighten us?”

Dumbledore slumped, suddenly looking very old and tired. “A Horcrux. All this time… I thought he had transformed himself, yes, but not made himself truly deathless. Tom Riddle acquired a piece of Quester’s jewelry during his schooldays, you see. I believed he was seeking the Deathly Hallows—a fool’s errand. If he’s made a Horcrux…”

“But what _is_ it?” Lily asked.

“It is a piece of the caster’s soul, split off by the act of murder and encased in an object. So long as the Horcrux remains intact, the caster remains anchored to this life no matter what may befall his body.”

Lily and Sev sat in appalled silence.

“He… he ripped off a piece of his _soul?_ ”

Sev’s obvious horror reassured Lily more than anything had for a long time. Maybe there was hope for him. She gave silent thanks to Tobias Snape for the first and probably last time in her life for dragging his son to Mass every Sunday. Maybe it had done some good after all.

Dumbledore closed his eyes. The skin of his face looked paper-thin, fragile. “I can see that I have erred in keeping this to myself all these years. I can only plead that I thought it for the best. I am sorry.”

Lily hugged the sleeping Harry closer. “So… what now? How do we find a Horcrux?”

“I think that first we should all indulge in the delights of the dreaming world. It’s getting late—or rather, early. Lily, are you ready?” He stroked Fawkes, who chirruped.

“You won’t sideline me this time. We don’t know whether there are more spies in the Order; you need me. I have to do this for Harry—and for James.”

He sighed. “You make a cogent argument. We shall try to keep you off the front lines, however. If you need research material, I shall procure it. No more libraries,” he said sharply.

“Yes, sir.”

“Severus, if you would please retire?”

Sev nodded and turned away with an impressive swirl of his cloak. He’d always had a taste for dramatic gestures. He paused at the door. “You will keep her safe this time? You promised.”

“I will. And don’t worry, I shall need your assistance in unraveling this mystery as well.”

#

The safe house garden was even gloomier than before. The hedges rose like prison walls. Maybe she had made a mistake. Again.

She watched Harry sleep and knew that it was out of the question for her. Maybe she should take another look at Sev’s book. That would probably be less disturbing than letting her thoughts wander.

_Weatherworking—Community Involvement—Sacrifice—_

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked Mottsnave’s idea in “[A Short History of Magic](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12594999/1/A-Short-History-of-Magic)” that modern spells are condensed, simplified versions of older ritual (Dark) magic. And she offers a cynical but believable reason why the Ministry might not approve of even non-evil Dark magic. From me, here are some reasons non-Ministry folks might sign onto that platform: they might have a neighbor who experiments with powerful Dark magic but isn’t concerned enough about whether he might hurt someone if things go wrong, and they take him as representative and decide that Dark magic and its practitioners must be inherently dodgy; wizarding craftspeople or guilds might not appreciate new magical technologies disrupting their industries; and if Dumbledore can’t prevent Dark Lords, well, maybe he can prevent them from being such creative and _effective_ Dark Lords…
> 
> We never learn what a unicorn-killer’s “cursed half-life” is like, but a “deathbed” curse which makes the stolen life arguably not worth living seems like a good possibility. I also used this idea in “[Lessons in Immortality](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947442).”
> 
> After hearing how Crouch’s “too strong” Obliviate turned Bertha Jorkins from someone with an excellent memory into someone who might forget what month it is, and seeing how long it has taken Lockhart to relearn basic skills, Arthur’s claim that Mr. Roberts will be fine after an Oblivate so strong he can’t remember the season is deeply unconvincing. It looks to me like strong Obliviates at least risk, if not guarantee, difficulty forming new memories.
> 
> The idea that Dumbledore thought Voldemort was seeking the Hallows, and that he didn’t realize he had any Horcruxes until the Harrycrux, comes from Terri_Testing. Dumbledore admits he’s made some huge mistakes. Basing his strategy on the wrong idea of what Tom was up to would certainly qualify.


	7. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new lead reunites Lily with Sirius for a mission to Little Hangleton. Unfortunately, Dumbledore insists that they take a Dark Arts expert along for protection--and he's been detained by urgent Order business. But as Lily realizes, they know another expert who could accompany them... if she can trust him. And if she can keep him and Sirius from killing each other.

“I’ve been thinking,” Lily said when Dumbledore arrived the next morning. Harry was contentedly smashing his stuffed lion against a hippogriff, making roaring noises.

“Did you sleep at all? You look exhausted.”

He was already deflecting. That was worrisome. “Cumulative from the past couple months. Anyway, you said You-Know-Who killed people who knew too much about him. Would that include any of his recent followers who stumbled on something, or worked it out, like we did?”

“It may.”

“What about Regulus Black?” Sirius had raged for weeks about his idiot brother who joined the Death Eaters and got himself killed. “Are we sure he just got cold feet and tried to run?”

Dumbledore stroked his beard, watching Harry. “He was very young to be taken into Voldemort’s confidence, such as it is, and if he did infer the possibility of a Horcrux, would he have been foolish enough to mention it?” He smiled indulgently. “I shall ask Severus if he knows anything more, however.”

“We should ask Sirius too. He might know something without knowing that he knows, if you see what I mean. The Black family library must be full of books about—that sort of thing. Maybe Sirius knows something Regulus could have found out, something more threatening than just the fact that Horcruxes exist.” She didn’t know what that might be, or how it might help them, but they ought to follow up to be sure.

“You may be right. I shall summon him to a meeting. In fact, as it’s Christmas, perhaps you and he and young Harry could share a celebratory meal in my office?”

Christmas had entirely slipped her mind. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

She relaxed slightly. He wasn’t keeping her prisoner. At least, not entirely.

#

Dumbledore had retrieved her teal dress robes from Godric’s Hollow that first day at the safe house. She hadn’t cared at the time, but now she was glad to have something nice to wear for Christmas. She changed Harry’s hair back to its natural color—no use keeping the disguise now—and dressed him in crimson and gold. They’d had so little occasion to celebrate lately.

A sudden blaze signaled Sirius Black’s arrival in Dumbledore’s office. He stepped out of the fireplace looking murderous.

“Enjoying your holiday?” he snapped.

“Excuse me?”

“James dies and you disappear, and now here you are dressed for a party. I suppose you’ve been hiding somewhere tropical while the rest of us are on the front lines. Did you let him in, or just wait and watch?”

“Let _who_ in?”

“You-Know-Who! Thought you’d do him a favor and get protection under the new order, didn’t you?” he said, hand trembling next to his wand.

Heat rose in her cheeks. Of all the—

“You know it was Peter, you—you bastard! After all the years you’ve known me, how could you think—”

“People with questionable ancestries shouldn’t go around calling other people bastards. How long were you and Peter working together?”

“You’re awfully quick to cast blame. Who’s more likely to be a turncoat, one of the Muggle-borns You-Know-Who is trying to kill or a spoiled pureblood like you?”

“You shut your—"

“Maybe you and Regulus joined the Death Eaters together, and you’ve been working for them all along!” Lily couldn’t stop herself now. “The Secret-Keeper switch was your stupid idea. Maybe you planned it that way. IT’S YOUR FAULT JAMES IS DEAD!”

“SHUT UP!”

Sirius raised his wand—and it flew out of his hand. Dumbledore caught it neatly. He looked disturbingly unruffled. Almost like he’d been expecting this.

“If you don’t mind, Sirius? Some of my instruments are quite delicate.”

Harry was crying into her shoulder. Guilt hit Lily like a Bludger. He hated shouting.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, Mummy and Sirius aren’t going to shout anymore. It’s okay, Harry.” She patted his back reassuringly. He hiccoughed and sniffled.

Lily glared at Sirius. “Do you really think I’m stupid enough to risk Harry’s life based on a promise from You-Know-Who, of all people?”

He scowled and stared at his feet. “No,” he said grudgingly. He collapsed into a chair. “Why didn’t James escape too, then?”

“Dumb luck.” Her throat constricted around the words. “He was downstairs, I was upstairs with Harry, and I jumped out the window with him. I saw the green flash coming for me while I was Apparating in midair. James… he bought us the seconds that saved us.”

She buried her face in Harry’s hair to hide her tears.

A few moments later, Sirius ran a sleeve across his face and looked up. “I’m sorry I said… what I said, Lily.”

 _People with questionable ancestries._ But this was Sirius. He couldn’t have meant it. Not really. It was the grief talking. “I’m sorry I called you a spoiled pureblood.”

Dumbledore spoke up again. “I really must attend the feast or people will talk. Can I trust the two of you to leave my office intact?”

“Sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

He snapped his fingers as he strode out the door, and steaming dishes appeared on the little table he’d set up for them.

“Well. Shall we?” Sirius swept his hand in invitation.

Lily had expected dinner to taste like sawdust on her tongue, but to her surprise, she found herself enjoying every mouthful. When was the last time she’d had food that wasn’t from a package or a tin? She passed bits to Harry, who recovered his spirits and chomped each bite with messy delight. Sirius tried to join in, but Harry looked at him suspiciously.

“He hasn’t forgotten me, has he?” Sirius looked hurt.

Lily had no idea how long babies could remember people. “We’ve hardly seen any other people for months. I think he’s just not sure what to make of the changes. He’ll be fine once he sees you’re the same old Sirius. You always were his favorite.”

They sank into silence. “Dumbledore said you’ve been hunting for Peter,” she said finally, once it got too quiet to bear.

He cut a bite off a thick slice of ham. “With very little success so far. It’s not easy searching all of Britain, as I’ve discovered.”

“You’ll get him.”

“Oh, I will. No matter how long it takes.” He stabbed the ham with his fork. “What have you been doing, if you haven’t been on a tropical island?”

Lily savored a bite of mince pie while she ran through the script she and Dumbledore had devised. “I’ve been hunting too, in a way. Only I was hunting You-Know-Who’s past in hopes of finding a weakness.”

Sirius looked up, interested. “Did you find anything?”

“Maybe. That’s one reason Dumbledore asked you here, actually. We think maybe your brother found out something, and that’s why he was really killed. We might need your help.”

“Lily, you know how things are with my family. What could he possibly have told them that would be worth having to put myself in the same room as them?”

“I know, it’s a long shot. But could he have left something behind? A note spelled just for family? Or maybe with a friend?”

“No idea.”

“Sirius.”

“I know, I know.” He sighed. “If I have to suck up to my mother and grandfather, I will. I wouldn’t do it for anything less than winning the war and avenging James, mind you.”

“I wouldn’t ask it for anything less.”

“I don’t think they’d be easy to win over. ‘Hi, Mum, sorry about all that blood-traitor stuff. Did Regulus leave a note explaining how to defeat your precious Dark Lord, by chance?’”

“I’m sure you’d do better than that. But I see what you mean. Is there anyone else who might have access to the house?”

Sirius made a face. “If Kreacher could leave the house, he’d be able to tell us where to find every mote of dust. But I’ve been disowned, so I couldn’t summon him anyway.”

“Who’s Kreacher?”

“Our loyal retainer.” Seeing her blank look, he clarified. “The family house-elf. He’s more of a pureblood supremacist than my cousin Bellatrix. And he’s not even human!”

James had introduced her to the Hogwarts elves who did the cooking and cleaning in secret, but she’d never thought much about the ones working in private homes. Serving the Black family must be nearly as dangerous as serving You-Know-Who, judging by Sirius’s dark hints.

“That’s brainwashing for you, I guess.” Lily fed Harry a few more tidbits. “Poor Kreacher. I suppose he’s never known anything but that house and following orders.”

“You don’t know the half of it. He looks forward to the day when Mum mounts his head on the wall next to his ancestors. But trust me, his pathetic situation doesn’t make it easier to be around him. You’d do just about anything to avoid having to call, ‘Oi, Kreacher!’”

 _Pop!_ A wizened little creature appeared next to the table. Harry giggled.

Sirius swore and grabbed his wand. “How did you get here?”

“Master Sirius summoned Kreacher.”

“But… elves can’t leave their houses.”

“Elves do not leave unless ordered. Not like bad sons who break their mother’s hearts.” Kreacher glared at Sirius.

“Didn’t Mum blast me off the tapestry?”

“Mistress blasted Master Sirius off, but Master Arcturus never removed him from the line of succession, and Mistress has not tried to persuade him. Mistress still hopes Master Sirius will stop his foolishness and come home.” The elf’s expression made it plain he thought Master Sirius would continue to be a disappointment.

Lily kicked Sirius under the table.

“Right. Er, Kreacher, it’s actually Regulus I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Master Regulus was a true scion of the Blacks.”

“Er, yes. We all miss him. In fact, I want to do something to honor his memory. I found out that Regulus was trying to leave V—er, the Dark Lord’s service before he died. Isn’t that right?”

Kreacher’s eyes widened. “Kreacher keeps Master Regulus’s secrets.”

“Even if I could help him? Didn’t he leave something unfinished?”

The little elf trembled. “Kreacher endeavors to carry out Master Regulus’s wishes, and Kreacher will prevail without Master Sirius.”

“But when? Let me help, and we can fulfil his dying wish now,” Sirius said earnestly, leaning toward Kreacher.

Lily had to give him credit. Even she was almost convinced, and she knew Sirius was acting.

Kreacher shook his head. “Kreacher doesn’t trust Master Sirius. He consorts with mudblood filth and doesn’t write to his mother. He might be tricking Kreacher.”

Lily clenched her teeth to keep herself silent.

“What can I do to prove I’m not? I can’t help if you don’t tell me something. What did Regulus tell you to do?”

Kreacher shook his head vigorously, obviously struggling with the decision. “Master Regulus told Kreacher to destroy something.”

Could it be the Horcrux? Could they be this close?

“The Dark Lord hid a locket in a cave under a nasty potion he made Kreacher drink. Kreacher’s insides burned, and he saw terrible things. When Master Regulus called Kreacher home, he was troubled. He asked Kreacher to take him to the cave. He said to switch the locket with one he brought when the basin was empty, and to destroy the Dark Lord’s locket. Then Master Regulus drank the potion. Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to leave him there!” Fat tears rolled down his cheeks.

Lily couldn’t help but feel for him. She knew how running away while someone you loved stayed and died haunted you.

“Can you give it to me now?” But Kreacher refused to answer. Sirius sighed, exasperated. “Listen, Regulus wanted to hurt—the Dark Lord. I want the same thing. If I can show you that I’m sincere about doing what Regulus wanted, will you let me help you?”

Kreacher considered for a long moment. “If Master Sirius proves he wants to help Master Regulus, Kreacher will show him the locket.” He disappeared without another word.

Lily and Sirius stared at each other. Now what?

#

Dumbledore glided back into the office moments later.

“I trust you enjoyed your meal?”

“Yes. Professor, we have some news,” Lily began. “Or rather, Sirius does.”

They gave a brief account of the surprise encounter with Kreacher. Dumbledore steepled his fingers. “Intriguing. But how to persuade him?”

“Exactly.”

“Lily, you said you’d been researching Voldemort’s background. Have you found anything we can use?” Sirius asked.

“Well, he’s a half-blood, but Kreacher might think that would make us like him.”

“He’s _what?_ ”

“It is often the case that those who most protest the importance of so-called purity are, shall we say, less than pure themselves by their own standards,” Dumbledore interjected. “Why, Cantankerus Nott himself, for instance—but another time, perhaps.”

Sirius sighed. “It’s possible that Regulus found out and felt betrayed, but you’re right, it doesn’t help us prove our sincerity to Kreacher. What else?”

They filled Sirius in on which of Voldemort’s biographical details they dared, then spent a fruitless twenty minutes trying to think of something—anything—that would sway Kreacher.

“It might not even be the Horcrux,” Lily said. “Maybe we should try looking for other possible hiding places too. If we’re lucky, we’ll turn up something that might help us with Kreacher in the process.”

“He probably has all sorts of cursed artifacts,” Sirius agreed glumly. “I hope he didn’t hide it on the Continent during his decade abroad. But he probably would want it somewhere he could check on it easily. If he’s stashed it locally, at least we might find it before Harry’s old and gray. Do you think he favors caves in general, or was there something special about that cave?”

Lily tried not to picture Harry as old as Dumbledore, peering fearfully between the curtains of a grimy safe house window.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “It may have been the location of a trip on which he and his fellow orphans were taken. According to the matron, two of the children were badly frightened after they explored a cave with Tom.”

There was more to _that_ story, Lily was certain. What had had the matron told Dumbledore, exactly? What had Tom done?

She forced herself to focus. “You mean he might have thought of it as a scene of triumph?” She considered. The orphanage might not even exist anymore. “What about the place where he killed his father and grandparents and framed his uncle? He probably felt even more triumphant about that. And no one would know to look there.”

“Hmm. It is a possibility.” Dumbledore sounded doubtful. “The Riddle house, I understand, is vacant and looked after by an elderly gardener. As to the shack formerly inhabited by the Gaunts, I will not hazard a guess. I suppose there could be no harm in looking.”

Sirius took a swig of butterbeer. “Right, let’s go, then.”

“While I admire your enthusiasm, we might have better luck in daylight. Would dawn tomorrow suit your schedule?”

They were planning to leave her behind, Lily realized. She couldn’t bear to stay locked in the safe house, waiting. “Professor, would Harry be safe with the Hogwarts house-elves while we’re out?”

“You really shouldn’t—”

“I don’t think—”

“I need to go,” she insisted. “I need to help finish this.”

Dumbledore tilted his head, fixing her with a probing, wary look, then nodded. “Yes, the elves are loyal and have powerful magic. I believe they would be more than adequate child-minders for young Harry.”

#

Dumbledore fetched Lily and Harry before first light. Sirius was already waiting in his office, pacing like a caged animal.

Handing Harry over to the young elf Dumbledore summoned felt like ripping her heart out. Already Lily was wondering whether this was a mistake.

“Well? Let’s go!” Sirius said.

“Calm yourself. Let us not go unprepared. While I do not expect to encounter Voldemort or his followers, he may have left interesting curses behind for anyone prying into his past.” Dumbledore spread out a sheet of parchment and sketched a quick map. “The Riddle house is here, and the Gaunt shack, I believe, is in this direction. Now, as to what we might face—”

An owl tapped on the window. Judging by Dumbledore’s expression as he read the letter it carried, it couldn’t be good news.

“I am needed urgently at Auror Headquarters. Emmeline Vance has been arrested as a Death Eater—framed, no doubt. Her freedom and her very life may depend upon my swift intervention.”

Lily’s stomach lurched. Emmeline had mentored her in Charms Club at school, and they’d gone on several Order missions together. The thought of her being sent to Azkaban for crimes she didn’t commit… or at least not by her own will, if she did… probably…

“What’s the nearest half-magical town to Little Hangleton?” Sirius was saying. “Lily and I can start there and Apparate by line-of-sight until we reach it.”

“Our mission can wait a few days—”

Lily forced her attention back to their task. “No, Sirius is right. It’s just reconnaissance. If we run into something we can’t handle, we’ll wait for you.”

Dumbledore’s brow creased. “You may encounter some unusual, even unique, curses. An expert in the Dark Arts is a necessity.”

“I’m not waiting,” Sirius said firmly. “We can handle it ourselves. Lily escaped Voldemort, remember?”

“No, I must insist, both for your safety and for the success of the mission.”

“Then we’ll bring another Dark Arts expert,” Lily said.

“While it’s true I know a great many useful people, just how many trustworthy Dark Arts experts do you believe I can call upon at such short notice?”

Moody would be busy helping free Emmeline. Frank, too, and Alice might not be able to leave Neville with relatives safely. Maybe they would have to wait.

Then she realized: there was one Dark Arts expert Dumbledore could summon instantly. _If_ he was trustworthy.

“Isn’t there one right here in the castle?” she asked.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “That might be… dangerous. In more ways than one.”

“I know. But he’s loyal to our side and has kept even bigger secrets successfully, or so you claim. Do you trust him or not?”

“Just get whoever it is here so we can go!” Sirius returned to pacing.

Dumbledore stared at Lily curiously. Then he nodded. “As it is only reconnaissance, perhaps the risk is acceptable.” His Patronus shot off down the staircase.

As soon as it had gone, Lily wondered whether she’d made her worst mistake yet.

“What?” Sirius asked, seeing her expression.

“You’re not going to like this. I don’t.” Sirius and Sev, working together? The day could hardly end without at least one murder attempt. “I just don’t see another option.”

“I’ll—”

The door swung open. Sev must already have been on his way to talk to Dumbledore. “Headmaster?” His gaze flicked around the room, a flash of hatred appearing when he looked at Sirius, though it was quickly replaced by a cool, mask-like expression.

“Severus, I’ve been called away on an urgent matter, and these two need your expertise in countering curses. They will explain the details.”

Sirius flushed. “I’m not working with scum like him!”

“It is up to you. I trust Severus. Now I really must go. I have James’s two-way mirror—I believe you have the other?” Without waiting for an answer, Dumbledore placed his hand on Fawkes and was gone in a flash of crimson.

“We’re not going anywhere with him,” Sirius burst out. “Snivellus is cozy with Death Eaters. We might as well send Voldemort a letter explaining our plan!”

“Stay here, then,” Lily snapped. “We’ll search without you.”

“You’d work with _him?_ Alone? Was I right about you the first time?” Sirius’s hand twitched on his wand.

Rage burned in her cheeks. Dumbledore expected them to fail, didn’t he? Not only did he think they wouldn’t find anything, he probably thought there was no chance the three of them could ever work together. That’s why he thought the risk was “acceptable.” He really could be a smug old bastard sometimes. Did he think no one could manage anything without his help?

She stared Sirius down with every ounce of fierceness she could muster. “Don’t be an idiot. I have more reason to hate him than you do. But I want to _win this war_ , Sirius. Every moment we waste means more people tortured and killed. Or framed like Emmeline. Now, are you going to help or stay behind in a righteous sulk?”

His nostrils flared and he balanced on the balls of his feet. He exhaled loudly. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be nice to him.”

“Would either of you care to explain what we’re doing, when it’s convenient?”

Sirius crossed his arms, his expression hard. Lily sighed.

“We’re going to Little Hangleton to look for anything about You-Know-Who’s past we can use to convince the Black family house-elf that we’re telling the truth about wanting to help him fulfill Regulus’s dying request to destroy something that might be the Horcrux. Or to find the Horcrux itself, if whatever Kreacher has isn’t it.” Saying it out loud made Lily realize how absurd it sounded. Maybe they _should_ wait for Dumbledore.

On the other hand, the idea of finding You-Know-Who’s identity had been equally ridiculous, and it had pointed them toward a means of killing him. One Dumbledore had missed.  
To his credit, Sev didn’t sneer. “Ah. And he may have left some surprises for visitors to his ancestral home. What’s the plan?”

Lily pulled out her wrinkled Muggle map of Britain and placed it next to Dumbledore’s sketch of the village. “Here’s the Riddle House and the Gaunt shack. We’ll Apparate to the nearest place we’ve all been and then continue by line of sight. Oh, and Sev and I ought to borrow some school brooms. I’ve only got one that’s probably older than Dumbledore. I’ll go under the invisibility cloak, and you two can Disillusion yourselves.”

“Can we stop talking and _go?_ ” Sirius growled. “I _really_ don’t want to drag this out.”

“Agreed.” Sev’s face was stony. Lily could only imagine the hatred he was hiding. “You two get the brooms while I gather some supplies. We’ll meet outside the gates.”

#

“Are you sure we can’t just leave without him?” Sirius muttered as they wrangled two battered brooms from the school broom shed. (If only she had her own! Of course Dumbledore hadn’t fetched _that_ from Godric’s Hollow. With only Sirius having a decent broom, they had better not need to do much flying.)

“Believe me, I wish we could. But our chances are better with someone who knows what kinds of curses You-Know-Who might have used.”

“Because he favors the same ones.” He went silent while they trudged toward the gates, invisible but for clouds of frozen breath. “What did you mean, you have more reason to hate him than I do?” he said as they passed the winged boars.

Lily hesitated. The fewer people knew about Sev’s double-agent status, the safer he would be. Damn. She was starting to understand Dumbledore’s paranoia about sharing information.

“Because… he used to be my friend,” she said finally. “He’s the one who told me the things I could do were magic. And then he made friends with _them_. You understand. The betrayal.”

The shimmer where Sirius stood wavered. “Yeah,” he added, apparently remembering she couldn’t see whatever gesture he’d made. “I suppose if Wormy could help us, I’d wait to wring his neck until we were done with him. Well, I’d try.”

“Er, I should have mentioned, but you also can’t tell anyone that we’ve even seen him, never mind that he joined this expedition.”

“Can you tell me why, or is that classified too?”

“I’m sorry.”

He made a noise of disgust.

Then the gates creaked, and another shimmer joined them. “Are we all accounted for?”

“Let’s go.” Lily spun on her heel.

#

Upper Flagley was close enough to Little Hangleton that they made only one more Apparition jump after they arrived and flew the rest of the way in. They landed on a lightly wooded slope looking down onto the Riddle House.

Though obviously once the grandest house for miles around, it was sadly decrepit now, the boarded-up windows and smothering ivy visible even at this distance. Not a person was in sight on such a chilly morning, so they let themselves be visible again as they hiked down the slope. As they got closer, Lily saw some boxwoods clinging to life around the house, and a stretch of lawn buried under snow, no doubt the work of the elderly gardener Dumbledore had mentioned. The greenery made the house look even sadder by comparison.

Harry’s absence felt like a gaping wound. They hadn’t been apart for…well, for his entire seventeen months of life. Could she really trust his safety anywhere she couldn’t see him? But she was doing this for him. She had to press on.

“Not exactly house-proud, is he?” Sirius said.

“Maybe it’s some sort of posthumous revenge,” Lily mused. “They abandoned him, so he lets their house rot. You’d think murdering them would be enough.”

“Remember who we’re talking about.”

Sev was feeling the air just in front of the ivy, frowning. “How odd. I’m not detecting any magic at all.”

“How are you doing that?” Lily asked. None of her teachers or books had mentioned that you could sense magic this way. She only knew a few standard techniques, like Scarpin’s Revelaspell.

Sev gave a brief, highly technical explanation. Sirius immediately started feeling the air as if to prove he could do anything Sev could do.

“My father explained it differently,” he said, and gave his own, equally technical explanation. Evidently, not everything his family had taught him was abhorrent. At least not if it helped him show up his sworn enemy. “He and Mum wanted to make sure we could always find magical locations.”

“Well, if it’s unprotected, I’m going to Apparate inside,” she said.

“Wait—let me check a few more things,” Sev countered. He pulled out his wand and traced complex shapes while chanting in a language Lily didn’t recognize.

“Black or I should go in first, just in case,” he finally said. “Seeing as neither of us have children.”

Sirius glared, but didn’t argue.

At least they hadn’t attacked each other. Under the circumstances, that counted as things going well.

The inside of the house was even sadder than the outside: damp, worn, and covered in an inch of dust. The wallpaper was faded and peeling, the floors creaky, and ominous water stains suggested rain had got in.

As much as they searched by both magical and Muggle means, they found nothing. The study held no personal papers, not even inside the few lonely books abandoned on the shelves as not worth the bother of selling off. She wanted nothing more than to run out of this miserable house and Apparate straight back to Harry. But there was no sense in doing this halfway.

“Let’s check that graveyard we spotted before trying the Gaunts’ place,” Lily suggested. They cast Notice-Me-Not Charms on themselves and headed toward the church.

Rows of crumbling headstones yielded very fine, though neglected, plots for the Riddles and a poor, even more neglected one in a corner for Marvolo Gaunt. Marvolo’s weathered headstone was almost smothered beneath a yew tree.

The rivalry between Sev and Sirius escalated.

“At least say the incantations out loud instead of showing off,” she snapped after Sirius blasted the snow off Marvolo’s grave instead of whatever he’d intended. “I didn’t grow up learning this stuff from my family and I have a lot of catching up to do. And try not to draw so much attention. Do you want to bring the Ministry down on us?”

“Sorry,” Sirius muttered.

Lily glared at Sev. He caved. “Here’s a spell for tripping sleeper curses from a distance. You usually can’t detect those until you’ve touched whatever you’re not meant to. Obviously, it’s best to activate them beforehand.” He demonstrated the technique.

It was irritatingly fascinating. Like her two-way scrying spell, it made Lily realize how little magic she’d learned or experimented with lately. Magic used to be _fun_.

Defeated at last, they Apparated across the valley to where the Gaunt home should be, if it still stood. The trees were so thick that it took half an hour of cursing and branches in their faces before Sirius shouted that he saw something. The remains of a path were almost obliterated by nettles. No one had wanted to come this way in a long time. Lily felt repelled by the idea of continuing, but she gritted her teeth and pressed on.

She almost didn’t see it at first. The nettles half-choked the tiny shack, and moss covered the spongy wood. The windows gaped like dead eyes. The roof was more hole than roof. A rusty nail jutted from the door. She shuddered to think of anyone condemned to live here.

A wave of nausea hit as she drew closer. She stopped. This wasn’t just emotional revulsion—it was something magical. She tried the first detection spell her companions had demonstrated, the one that only told her whether there was magic here or not.

A hum in her fingertips confirmed that magic oozed from the walls. “Definitely magic.”

“Well done, Lily,” Sirius said after he and Sev confirmed it. “Do you think it’s left over from wizards living there, or is it something active?”

“Back up and I’ll try that sleeper curse-tripping spell,” she said, considering which wand to use. For some reason, she felt drawn to the legacy wand for this.

“Don’t forget the upward flick at the end,” Sev reminded her.

Lily glared at him. “Thanks, Professor.” She took a deep breath. “Excita!”

The shack crackled and shot lightning at them. Lily leaped backward. One foot landed on a stone, and she fell hard. Pain shot up her wrists at the same instant the soles of her feet burned.

The crackling stopped. Lily sat up, heart pounding.

“Lily! Are you all right? Lily!” Sev was at her arm, face pale.

“Fine,” she gasped. “You? Sirius?”

“A little singed, but I’ll live,” Sirius replied.

They turned to look at the shack, brooding over them like a malevolent Inferius.

Lily shivered. “I think we’ve found something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Sirius could inherit Grimmauld Place, he must not have been entirely disowned. Which is odd, considering he was in Azkaban for life in canon. Maybe Walburga and/or Arcturus couldn’t (fully) disown him for convoluted legal reasons, or maybe they reversed the earlier disownment after Regulus died and didn’t re-disown Sirius even after his arrest. Given his lack of trial and Crouch’s political decline, maybe they were hoping for an eventual investigation and acquittal, after which Walburga’s wayward son would repent and crawl home to her.
> 
> Excita: “Awaken!”


	8. The Unquiet Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gaunt's shack conceals a mysterious ring. But before they can figure out what Voldemort might be using it for, the mission goes terribly wrong. Lily thinks of a way they might be able to convince Kreacher to help them anyway... but it leads them into even more danger and exposes long-buried secrets that threaten to tear their fragile alliance apart.

Sirius rolled up his sleeves. “Now it’s time for some _real_ curse-breaking. Or should we just burn the place down?”

“Not before we’ve searched it,” Lily said. “We don’t know how many secrets he might be hiding. What if whatever’s in here isn’t the Horcrux, but it’s something important?”

“Like his plan for world domination? ‘Dear Diary, today I’m going to blow up a Muggle hospital and kill the Bones family. Then tea with my Slytherin chums. Malfoy makes a lovely Victoria sponge.’”

“If we could return to the immediate topic, I think I’ve figured out which spells he’s combined for this layered revulsion effect,” Sev interrupted.

Heated consultation finally settled into agreement, and they cast the counter-curses together. At once, Lily felt the nausea and the compulsion to run vanish. She breathed deeply.

“I know a lightning hex,” Sirius said, “but nothing as strong as this one. Maybe it’s similar, though.”

After another tense consultation, they lifted that one too. Sirius cast another magic-detecting spell, and the shack stayed quiet.

“Let’s go in, then.” He strode forward.

“Wait!” Lily cried, a memory striking her. “We might have awakened something else!”

 _“What if You-Know-Who can counter the protective enchantments?”_ she’d asked James when they moved to their first hiding place.

_“Don’t worry, Lils! If he undoes even one, that’ll activate a Blasting Curse he won’t have been able to see until then. That should give us plenty of time.”_

They had cast the same curse on the next hiding place, and the next, the Godric’s Hollow cottage. It hadn’t bought them any time at all. They’d been fools to think You-Know-Who could be caught off guard by such a trick. For all she knew, he’d invented it.

Sev must have been thinking along the same lines. “You’re right,” he said after casting a complex spell neither he nor Sirius had demonstrated yet. “Taking that one down activated a latent curse after a short delay. It’s increased enough in strength that we should be able to identify it now. Though you’re welcome to trip it manually if you prefer, Black.”

Lifting that curse—which flung the nettles at them, with added venom—activated yet another, a choking purple gas.

“I can’t—find any—more,” Sirius coughed.

“Me neither.” Lily’s eyes and throat burned.

“Nor I. Here, this should help with the effects of the gas.” Sev pulled a vial out of his pocket. At Sirius’s crossed arms, he tipped a few drops into his mouth to demonstrate. “There’s nothing to fear.”

“As if I’d—"

“I have some salves for the burns and scratches,” Lily interrupted, reaching into her rucksack.

Mostly recovered, they cautiously approached the shack.

Sirius darted forward and pushed the door open before they could stop him. “What, no tea? What a terrible host.”

Since he didn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects, Lily and Sev followed him in, wands at the ready.

The inside of the shack was a study in dust and rot and fungus. She coughed. Had this place ever been fit for human habitation?

Sev pulled a thin golden rod out of his pocket and scanned the hulking carcass of a stove twice, once with his wand and once with the rod. Lily and Sirius split up and started scanning with their own wands.

The main room and the first of the tiny bedrooms turned up nothing. They filed into the other bedroom grimly. Lily shuddered as she scanned the rusted remains of an iron bedframe. It looked more like a medieval torture device than a place of rest.

She couldn’t let her disgust distract her. She scanned the area again. This time, her wand sparked when she reached the center of the bed. “Guys?”

They were instantly at her side.

“That’s a tough one. Excellent work.”

“I nearly missed it. Can we pry up the floorboards without getting cursed?”

Sirius gave his wand a complicated twirl. “We can now.” He glared when Sev insisted on scanning the area again before levitating the boards out of the way.

In the dark hollow revealed beneath lay a small golden box. Lily’s breath caught. _That_ didn’t belong in this hovel.

Sev undid another two curses and picked up the box. He paused, weighing it in his hand, then set it on the floor in the middle of the room before opening the lid.

Lily blinked in the gloom. Inside was a dark lump—a stone—attached to… a ring?

Sirius did one of his showy curse-detecting spells and picked up the ring. When the light hit it, Lily saw a bisected circle and a triangle scratched into it.

Sirius looked bemused. “That’s the sigil of the Deathly Hallows. Don’t tell me Voldemort is a crackpot Quester.”

Sev flinched at the name, but said only, “Dumbledore said he wore a piece of Quester’s jewelry in school. An heirloom, possibly. It would have given the impression that he was the by-blow of an old family. Which is more or less true.”

“So he could reassure everyone he wasn’t Muggle-born after all,” Lily added bitterly.

“They really went for it, didn’t they? They actually used a _rock_ , like they thought they’d fool people into believing this is the real Resurrection Stone.”

“Be fair, Black. They probably couldn’t afford the sort of ostentatious monstrosity your family would commission,” Severus sneered.

“Um.” Lily searched her memory of the storybook James had insisted they read to Harry, even though the tales seemed much too old for a baby and Harry had been more interested in trying to pull James’s glasses off his face. “The Resurrection Stone would be the rock that made one of the brothers see his dead girlfriend and kill himself, right?”

“Exactly.” Sirius rolled his eyes. “The rock given to him by Death himself as a trap. He really ought to have known better. You just turn it over three times in your hand, like this—” He turned it once. Twice. Thrice. “—and—”

He blanched, his eyes stared at something no one else could see.

“No,” he muttered. “I didn’t—”

“Sirius! Let go of that!” Lily lunged to grab the ring from his hand. He must have triggered another curse.

The ring tumbled in her hand. How many times—

Ghostly forms rose before her. Horribly familiar forms.

“Mum? Dad?”

“Lily.” Her mother glared at her accusingly. “Why weren’t you there for us?”

“You could have saved us,” her father said. “But you left us to die.”

James strode forward to join them. “You betrayed me. I’m barely cold in my grave and you’re already fraternizing with a Death Eater.” His face was pure rage.

“No…”

“Put on the ring, Lily,” her father demanded. “Join us.”

“Put on the ring, Lily,” her mother snapped. “End this.”

“Put on the ring, Lily,” James spat. “You traitorous bitch.”

The metal band was cool in her palm. It would be easy. She deserved it.

“Put on the ring, Lily. Put on the ring. Put on the—”

“Lily!”

A gale blasted her hand and the ghosts vanished. The ring flew and hit the wall.

Sev pointed his wand at the ring. “Ignimicus!”

Fiery serpents raced across the floor toward the ring. A flaming chimaera reared up and lunged toward it.

Lily froze. She’d seen this once before, the night Death Eaters burned the Potter home in Stinchcombe while the Order was meeting there. Death Eaters and Inferi had surrounded the blazing house. They’d barely escaped.

“Out. Now!” Sev grabbed her arm and dragged her to the door.

They stumbled out of the shack, Sirius tripping over their heels.

“Containment circle!” Sev shouted.

Lily acted by reflex. She ran widdershins around the shack, tracing a red line with her wand. She met Sirius on the other side, and Sev ran up behind her shortly after, chanting something at the flaming beasts now consuming the rotten structure.

Another phantom rose out of the flames: red eyes in a pale face, screaming in agony. Then nothing.

“Discede!” Sev gave his wand a final flourish, and suddenly, the flames subsided, leaving nothing but a blasted, blackened circle.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Sirius yelled. “We could have been killed!”

“You would have been if either of you had put on that damn ring!”

“You could have used _Incendio_ like a normal person, but no, you had to go all Dark wizard and destroy the ONLY EVIDENCE WE HAD. Now Kreacher will never give us the Horcrux and we’re FUCKED.”

“You can’t honestly believe the Dark Lord would leave a trap vulnerable to every idiot who can yell ‘Incendio.’ Even Gryffindors are supposed to have more brains than that.”

“You’d know all about the Dark Lord’s habits, wouldn’t you? Tell me, how long are you going to hang around your loser friends hoping they’ll let you into their little club?”

 _He doesn’t know_ , Lily realized with a start. And then, _I almost forgot_. Why did she keep forgetting Sev was a Death Eater now?

She stared at the charred circle, feeling sick. Sirius was right—Sev might have just ruined their only chance, maybe on purpose. James—the false James, or ghost James, or whatever he’d been—was right about her. She was betraying his memory.

She had to salvage this so it could all end and things could get back to normal.

“Sirius. Hey. SIRIUS.”

He finally broke off from shouting at Sev. “What?”

“Look, we’re stuck with this mess now. Will Kreacher accept destroying the Dark Lord’s family home as evidence we’re on Regulus’s side?”

Sirius clenched his jaw. “We don’t have a choice, do we? We’ll have to try. Kreacher!”

The wrinkled elf instantly appeared. “Master Sirius called Kreacher?” The way he said _Master_ left no doubt that he was using the title sarcastically.

“Hello, Kreacher.” Sirius shifted from one foot to the other. “This smoking ruin here is where Vol- er, the Dark Lord’s mum and uncle and grandad used to live.”

Kreacher looked skeptically at the blackened hellscape. “Here?”

“Yes, it was a filthy shack and they were degenerates. Regulus probably found out the Dark Lord came from bad blood, right?” Kreacher didn’t answer, but looked like he was wavering. Sirius kept going. “We’ve, er, cleansed the world of their filth now, and we’d really like to finish the job, if you’ll let us have what Regulus gave you.”

Kreacher looked from the ruin to Sirius and back again. “How does Kreacher know this wasn’t a filthy Muggle shack Master Sirius is using to trick Kreacher?”

“Oh, for—come on, you little—”

“Kreacher will not betray Master Regulus!”

Sirius looked like he might try to throttle Kreacher. Lily couldn’t let him ruin their chance to recover from this disaster. But what else could they possibly offer him as proof?

At once she realized what she would have to do. No, it was too much. There had to be another way.

But she couldn’t think of one, and they were running out of time. Thanks to the Fiendfyre, the Ministry could be here any minute.

“Regulus was very brave, wasn’t he?” she cut in.

The elf sniffed. “Is the mudblood talking?”

She saw red. But she couldn’t lose her temper. This was for Harry. And for James.

“He wanted to kill the Dark Lord so wizards could rule and—and mudbloods like me would have a place above the Muggles. Because he knew that wasn’t what the Dark Lord really wants, and Regulus was too noble to let the Dark Lord destroy that dream.” She nearly gagged on the words. Sirius and Sev wore identical expressions of horror, which would be funny under any other circumstances. She was probably laying it on too thick.

But Kreacher preened. “Master Regulus was the very best of young men.”

She took a deep breath and knelt so she could talk to him on his level. “You said Regulus stayed in the cave. Does that mean Mrs. Black couldn’t give her son a proper burial?”

Tears welled in Kreacher’s eyes. Merlin, he really had been attached to that little brat.

“What if Sirius could bring him home? Could you take us to the cave so we can bring him home to Mrs. Black?”

The tears spilled down his cheeks. “Kreacher… Kreacher cannot go _to_ the cave,” he said, voice quavering.

Sirius seized the opportunity. “What about _near_ the cave?”

Kreacher squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them vigorously. “Master Sirius is a blood traitor. He is tricking Kreacher.”

“I swear that I’m not. Whatever he did, he’s still my brother. I don’t want him stuck in some cave forever. I’ll bring him back, Kreacher.”

The elf rocked back and forth. “Very well, Kreacher will take Master Sirius and the mudblood and the ugly one!”

Before they could react, he leapt forward and gathered their hands, and suddenly they were on a rocky cliff somewhere far from Little Hangleton, and Kreacher was gone.

Great. Now how were they going to pull this off?

#

Sirius spotted the place where the crashing waves disappeared into the stone without breaking. “Looks like a cave to me! We’ll have to fly down.”

Sev peered over the edge, looking green.

“What’s the matter, Snivellus?” Sirius smirked. “Scared of heights?”

“Just give me the broom,” Sev said through gritted teeth.

It wasn’t the height that worried Lily. The wind was ferocious, and the waves proved worse. “Are you sure we can get in this way?” she shouted, coughing up a lungful of icy water.

“What?”

She couldn’t even tell who had replied.

Another wave nearly knocked her off her broom. She swerved to avoid a jutting rock and found herself in darkness. Lily panicked. Had she knocked herself out? Was she dead?

“Lumos!”

Rock surrounded her. Thank Merlin. She’d found the cave.

After a terrifying flight through a much-too-narrow passage, riding half-underwater most of the way, a rock ledge appeared in the faint circle of her wand-light. She landed and fell to her knees, shivering and coughing up more water.

Sirius landed with a thud beside her. “Ugh, what a place. Think Snivellus drowned?”

She whirled around, pointing her wand back toward the entrance. “Let’s hope not. I was planning to have him trip all the curses for us.” Sirius snickered appreciatively.

A bedraggled figure rose out of the water and fell off his broom in a sodden bundle. Lily sighed. Sev had always been rubbish at flying. She cast Drying Charms and Warming Charms on them all.

“Not much of a cave, is it?” she said, peering around. It was awfully small. “You don’t think we’ve got the wrong one?” Or maybe Regulus was under water, and they’d have to dive for him. She shivered. Who knew what creatures might lurk in an ocean cave?

“Maybe there’s more of it concealed somehow,” Sev said, still coughing. He frowned and ran his hands along the wall for several minutes. “Ah… here.” He paused before a spot no different from the rest.

Every secret-revealing and door-opening spell they knew failed to affect the wall. In desperation, Lily even tried shouting “Mellon!” But evidently You-Know-Who hadn’t read _The Fellowship of the Ring_. Not that she had really expected him to read a Muggle book. Or value friendship.

“We could try blasting through,” Sirius suggested. “Except Regulus could be just on the other side. Damn him! Why did he have to be such an idiot? If only he’d known where the Gaunts’ blood purity rubbish got them, he might not have been so keen on the whole business.”

Sev looked up sharply. “Blood. Maybe that’s it.”

“Of course that’s—oh, you mean the door.”

Lily saw a flash of silver—Sev’s potions knife—and then he pressed his hand to the wall.

A black maw opened.

Sirius dashed through before they could stop him. “Not here. He must not have made it back to the door, poor sod.”

“Perhaps he didn’t try,” Sev said, stepping through carefully after a few sweeps with his wand.

“My brother wasn’t a coward!”

“That’s not what I meant. The Dark Lord… marks his followers.” Sev rubbed his left arm against his side as if trying to scrub off a bit of dirt.

“What do you mean?” Lily stepped through after them.

“With the Dark Mark.”

They both looked at him in disgust.

“You mean they’ve all got that ghastly thing tattooed onto their _skin_?” Sirius demanded.

“It’s a magical brand, not a tattoo. Among other things, it allows the Dark Lord to summon his followers to his side. And it allows him to find—them—and binds the whole group into a family, for magical purposes, with the Dark Lord as paterfamilias.”

“Some family,” Lily muttered.

Sirius understood better than she did. “You mean… if a house is protected with family blood wards, then if one member is marked… _any_ of the Death Eaters could get past them?”

“Exactly.” Sev’s voice was grim. “Regulus may have died to protect your mother and grandfather.”

The darkness was stifling. Lily turned back to the door, desperate for a fresh breeze from the cave mouth—but the wall had turned back to solid rock. “I hate to interrupt, but we will be able to get out again, won’t we?”

“We’ll blast through if we have to,” Sirius said. “No problem from this side. But it probably just wants more blood. Come on, let’s find my brother and get out of here.”

Sev was peering at something further into the cave. “That might not be a quick job, Black. Take a look.”

Lily pushed her irritation that they were ignoring her again to the back of her mind and stepped forward. Then she wished she hadn’t.

They were standing on the edge of a lake so vast she couldn’t see the other side. Far off, something glowed ominously green. And in the lake were bodies. Dozens of bodies, eerily pale.

Inferi.

Lily shivered, the memory of that awful night making her breath come fast.

“At least they’re not moving,” Sev added. “Maybe they’ll stay quiet if we don’t disturb them.”

“Now that we know where he keeps them, maybe the Order can come back and clean this place out,” Lily said, trying to focus on something practical.

Sirius didn’t seem to hear her. “I don’t see Regulus. He must be farther out.” He mounted his broom and glided out over the lake.

An Inferius leapt out of the water to an astonishing height, its dead hands grasping at the broom. Sirius cursed and sped back to the rock ledge.

Lily and Sev raised their wands to cover him, ready to set the Inferi aflame if they rose from the lake. But they went deathly still as soon as Sirius landed.

“No brooms, then.” Turning back to the lake, he pointed his wand. “Accio Regulus Arcturus Black!”

The lake roiled again with the dead. They held their breaths until the water settled.

Sirius growled. “How are we supposed to search the lake, then? He could be anywhere!”

Lily frowned. “There’s something out there in the middle. That must be the poison Kreacher mentioned, so maybe Regulus is in that direction. How did You-Know-Who cross?” Did he rely on Kreacher’s elf magic? No, he must have left another way for himself in case he needed to come back and didn’t have time to commandeer a house-elf. “It’s a lake, so maybe he used a boat. But I don’t see one.”

“He might have hidden it, though. It’s worth looking.” They followed Sev as he waved his wand and the golden rod along the edge of the lake. “Yes, I think I’ve got something.” He reached down and pulled up a chain. It slowly raised a tiny rowboat to the surface.

“It looks just like the boats first-years use to cross the lake to Hogwarts,” Lily said. Or was it too small? Surely they hadn’t been that tiny even at eleven. She doubted two of them could fit in it now, at least not comfortably. Maybe You-Know-Who had shrunk it.

Sirius and Sev examined it. “You’re right,” Sirius agreed. “What kind of Dark Lord steals a boat from school?”

“One who knows his ancient magic,” Sev said. “The Hogwarts boats can carry no more than one adult at a time. He’d want to keep intruders isolated from each other.”

“We should test it, just in case,” Lily said. She kept her broom in hand and hopped into the boat. Sev and Sirius loomed behind her. A sudden, horrible vision of Sev shoving her into the water to be pulled under by the Inferi made her shudder. No way was she going out into the middle of a corpse-filled lake with him. “Right, now Sirius.”

Sirius jumped in after her. Immediately the boat started sinking, and a nearby Inferius thrashed to the surface. Sirius scrambled out as she flew back onto the ledge. He glared at Sev as if it were his fault. “Fine, you two wait here and I’ll search,” he said.

“Don’t be daft. You need backup,” Lily countered. “We can figure something out. Is there a way to trick the boat into thinking we’re underage?”

“If we had some Polyjuice and the hairs of current students…” Sev began. “But we don’t. We could come back.”

And give him time to warn his master? Not a chance.

“I’m not leaving without my brother,” Sirius snapped, obviously thinking along the same lines. He heaved a sigh. “Ah… how do the Hogwarts boats feel about dogs?”

That didn’t make any sense to Lily, and judging by his expression, Sev was just as baffled. “Dogs?”

In the blink of an eye, Sirius collapsed into…

…sweet Merlin. A large black dog stood before them.

Another blink and Sirius returned.

“You’re an Animagus?” Lily gasped. “Since when? Did you learn it to hunt Peter?”

Sev’s expression twisted to rage. “So that’s how you did it. Five years I’ve been trying to work that out.

“Not my fault you’re slow, Snivellus.”

“Does the headmaster know, or did you keep that little detail from him?”

Not another fight over old grudges. Not now. “We really don’t have time for—”

Neither of them so much as glanced in her direction.

“You _knew_ you weren’t in danger! I suppose Potter was an Animagus too? You bastards set me up to be savaged by your pet werewolf and you _knew_ he wouldn’t hurt you! Potter didn’t risk anything when he lost his nerve and pulled me out, did he? DID HE?”

The situation was rapidly getting away from her. They had to find Regulus and get the hell out of here. “Hey, let’s focus on the mission,” she snapped. “We don’t have time for this.”

Sev whirled to face her. “They were _letting him out, Lily_. I didn’t think it was possible, but now I know. He could have killed anyone out on the grounds during full moon. He could have killed _you_.”

“We would never let that happen!” Sirius said. “What do you think we are, stupid?”

“Damn right I do!”

Wait. Letting him out? Sev’s insistence that he didn’t owe James anything, that James and his friends were dangerous… the way Remus wouldn’t meet her eyes when she’d told him she didn’t believe Sev’s absurd theory for a minute… those howls in the Forbidden Forest…

And Sirius wasn’t disputing Sev’s accusations. He was agreeing.

She felt like she’d been sucked beneath the lake. Everything looked far away.

James had—and they’d—but it wasn’t like that, couldn’t have been like that—James had grown up, he was a good man—he had died to save her—

They were still shouting at each other. “Shut up, both of you.” She squeezed her eyes shut, not that it made much difference. “I SAID SHUT UP!” She flung a Stinging Hex and felt a hot satisfaction when they both yelped.

Lily took several deep breaths. “If you two want to kill each other later, be my guests. Set a date and I’ll sell tickets. But wait until we’ve found Regulus and got the Horcrux or _I_ will kill you. Understand?”

They stared and didn’t answer.

“Good. Now, Sirius and I will search in the boat. You can guard the door, Snape.”

She felt uneasy when they complied without a word. They must know she wasn’t serious about killing them.

She squeezed her eyes shut as if that would clear her mind. They couldn’t afford for her to get caught up in her thoughts and freeze. Whatever worries she had about herself would have to wait until later. She could sort them out once they’d destroyed the Horcrux.

The boat glided silently through the dark water. The huge dog pressed against her knees—so hard to believe it was Sirius—bothered her almost as much as the corpses in the lake. No wonder they called him Padfoot. He looked like a beast out of a campfire horror story. There must be one about a girl who thought she knew someone, and all along he was hiding a monster within himself. Besides the stories about werewolves, that is.

She had to stop thinking like this. The parade of dead faces was getting to her, that was it.

So many of them. Now that they weren’t trying to kill her, she could see the people they had once been. Every one of them once had a family, she realized. People who never got the dubious comfort of seeing their loved ones safely tucked into graves, who might not even know whether they were dead or alive. Probably best that they didn’t know that the bodies of their husbands and wives and children were enslaved to a mass-murderer’s will. Many wore the tattered remains of Muggle clothes. Had they even understood how they had died?

The boat rocked as Lily shifted to guide it away from the shore of a small island holding a stone basin, the origin of that creepy green glow. Regulus wasn’t on it, but he might be nearby.

Their sloshing briefly exposed some of the Inferi. The dog’s ears perked up and he sniffed loudly. “What is it? Can you smell something?” She squinted in the dim light.

There! The one with nearly-intact robes—there was the dark hair, the face just as she remembered it from school.

“Good job, Sirius. Now, how do we get him out?” Maybe they could drag him back. With luck, the Inferi wouldn’t care about a corpse being towed through their midst.

She conjured a rope and tied one end to the prow, then knotted the other into a loop. The rope floated away on her first attempt, and the second. The third time, it slid over Regulus’s feet. She guided it higher, up to his armpits. Nothing stirred. She pulled gently.

The corpse thrashed, splashing Lily and the dog. Nearby Inferi stirred. Oh, damn. She should have expected that You-Know-Who wouldn’t let intruders die quietly.

Time to see how fast this boat could go. “Curre!” Lily shouted. The boat bucked and sped back the way they’d come. Spray blinded her.

The boat jumped each time it hit a body. The Inferi leapt and grabbed at the boat, gnashing their teeth. Sirius growled and snapped. Lily blasted a few, but more and more came, and Regulus was pulling himself up the rope towards them. She couldn’t cast anything that might damage him.

She aimed at the boat. “Protego Maxima!” Maybe if the Inferi couldn’t sense them—

But Inferi must work differently from living people, because they didn’t stop. “Repello Inimicum!”

She could see the light from Sev’s wand just ahead. “Almost there, Sirius! Sirius?”

An Inferius had reached over the side and fastened its bony fingers around the dog’s throat. His bites weren’t phasing it. Lily blasted it away—but now Regulus was pulling himself over the side of the boat along with three more Inferi.

They weren’t going to make it. _Think, Lily._ How to get herself, a dog, and a homicidal corpse out of a rowboat onto a ledge a dozen yards away?

She cut the rope with a severing charm. “Wingardium Leviosa!” She lifted Regulus high in the air and hurled him toward the light. “Catch, Sev!” She’d just have to hope he wouldn’t set Regulus on fire too.

A clammy hand grabbed her arm. She hit that one with an Incendio to the chest. He fell back, fizzling out in the lake.

Lily reached into her rucksack for her broom—only to have an Inferius yank the broom from her and hurl it away into the darkness. Oh, shit.

The boat rocked dangerously as more corpses grabbed the boat. Lily blasted them off—but their weight had been enough to dip them below the waterline for a second. The boat rode lower and slowed. More water splashed in as it rocked. Still too far. If only they were higher than the ledge instead of lower.

If she couldn’t float, maybe she could jump. No, that couldn’t possibly work. Could it?

She burned another Inferius. They had no choice. They were sinking anyway. “Change back! Quick!”

He flamed three Inferi the instant after he changed. The boat sank even faster. “Lily—”

She grabbed his hand. “Jump!”

She focused with all her might. They were strong, they were light, they were speeding through the air like Quaffles…

They slammed into the ledge hard. Lily scrabbled at the stone, cutting her hands as she tried to get a grip on the edge.

“Lily!” Strong hands pulled her to safety.

“Sev! Do you have him?” Lily Summoned her broom, which at least didn’t make the Inferi any more murderous than they already were.

“I—Petrificus Totalis! He keeps fighting off everything I cast at him.”

Sirius, coughing, grabbed the end of the rope. “Let’s get out of here.” He lunged back to where they’d entered and slapped his bleeding hand against the wall.

Regulus kept thrashing even after they were through the door.

“We can’t take him home like this,” Sirius said, casting _Incarcerous_. Regulus burst through the ropes, leaving bloodless gouges in his flesh.

Sev raised his wand. “We might have to—”

“Don’t you dare hurt him!”

Regulus lunged forward and locked his hands around Sirius’s throat. Sirius barely shook free, but Regulus caught him again.

They needed to put him to rest and take him home before Sev ruined this too.

Rest. Would it work? If she combined the wand movements for unbinding and stillness and maybe… it was a long shot, but it might be their only chance…

She combined the wand movements from three spells. “Requiescat in Pace!”

Regulus crumpled into a heap. His limbs splayed where they fell; his hair covered his face, which pressed into the unforgiving rock. Just like that, from walking around to a pile of robes and dark hair.

Sirius gaped. “Wha—is he—when did you learn that?”

“Just now,” she snapped. “ _I_ wouldn’t keep a secret like that from the Order. Let’s just get out of this cave and finish the damn mission, all right?”

He gave her a hard, measuring look, then silently levitated his brother and mounted his broom.

It was dark and windy on the clifftop. Sirius conjured a curving stone wall to block the gusts, and they huddled in its shelter.

He summoned Kreacher. The elf’s scowl vanished when he saw Regulus laid out on the ground with his hands across his chest. He burst into noisy tears and buried his face in Regulus’s robes. “Oh, my poor master! Poor Master Regulus!”

Lily felt a stab of pity. He was sobbing as if it were his own child who’d died. Had he changed Regulus’s nappies and rocked him to sleep?

“I did what I promised,” Sirius told him. “I brought him back. Now, how about your end of the bargain?”

The elf sniffled. “Kreacher keeps his promises. He will give Master Sirius the locket when Master Sirius brings Master Regulus home to Mistress.”

“Hey, that’s—oh, fine, you’re right. She’ll need someone to explain. But if I don’t survive her wrath, you give it to Lily.” Sirius sounded like he was trying to be flippant.

Kreacher scowled, but bowed mockingly. “Kreacher will give the locket to the mudblood if Master Sirius dies.”

Sirius sighed. “If I don’t come back or send a Patronus within an hour, get Dumbledore. Even my mother might back down if he challenged her. Well, if she hasn’t gone completely mad by now.”

He turned back to Kreacher. “All right. Take us home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon is clear as mud about the Potters’ timeline and living situation during the war. If anyone is curious why I decided the Godric’s Hollow cottage wasn’t their original home and the rest of it, let me know.
> 
> Ignimicus: I apologize for forgetting whether jana_ch or ioanna_ioanina came up with this incantation, but I’m pretty sure it was one of them. It’s a portmanteau of “ignis” (fire) and “inimicus” (enemy). “Fiend” is from the Old English “feond” (enemy, later taking on connotations of the ultimate enemy, the Devil). So “ignimicus” = “diabolical enemy fire” = Fiendfyre.
> 
> Sirius talks about Snape’s Death Eater friends in GoF, but says he has “no idea” whether Snape was one. Sirius isn’t exactly fair and reasonable about Snape, so Snape probably really wasn’t publicly suspected.
> 
> That the Dark Mark might bind the Death Eaters into a “family” with Voldemort as paterfamilias, and that Regulus might have died in part to protect his family by severing his connection with his Mark, comes from an essay by Terri_testing.
> 
> I thought of the Hogwarts boats only being able to carry one adult at a time while speculating on Hagrid’s role as Keeper of the Keys. Why do the first years row across the lake to Hogwarts even in a ferocious storm? Maybe the only way to get full freedom of Hogwarts (as opposed to guest access like the Triwizard delegates get—I’m positing that some areas might be magically inaccessible to them) is to be escorted through the lake entrance by the Keeper of the Keys, and all other adults are barred from the boats for security reasons. Tom probably would have filed that fact away until he found a use for it.


	9. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Has everyone lied to Lily? Hoping that at least one person will answer her honestly, she confronts Sev about why he joined a group dedicated to oppressing her. Sirius returns from Grimmauld Place with a locket and some unsettling stories his mother told him about Dumbledore. Dumbledore thinks Sirius has some explaining to do. And he's very curious about Lily's success in convincing enemies to work together and her ability to create tricky new spells...

Lily sat by the fire she’d lit, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes closed. Wind howled around the wall. The cold seeped from the ground into her bones.

Only now was everything she’d heard in the cave sinking in. They’d all lied to her. James, his friends, Dumbledore. Everyone.

And she’d been foolish yet again to trust anyone. How did she know Sirius wasn’t a Death Eater too? He could have thrown her to the Inferi, and she would never have seen it coming. Maybe the whole lot of them were in this together. Or maybe they were just all as bad as each other, and she was caught in the cross-fire of a pointless bloody gang war.

Something soft hit her shoulders. She jolted upright, clutching her wand so tightly it hurt.

Sev jerked back, hunching as if expecting a blow. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—"

A blanket. He’d given her a blanket.

“No, you just startled me.” She clutched the wooly comfort around her shoulders.

After a long, awkward pause, he spoke again. “That was some impressive magic earlier.”

“Thanks,” she said automatically. “And thanks for pulling me out of the lake,” she added, again more by reflex than any conscious thought. That was the proper thing to say, what anyone would say, on being rescued from the murderous undead.

“Of course.”

She traced her finger over the gritty soil. He’d said the Dark Lord marked his followers with—with that, the same symbol that loomed over the corpses of his victims. And he was their paterfamilias. Did that mean You-Know-Who could compel their obedience through their Dark Marks? Could he use the Marks to kill them? How deep did this go?

And who in his right mind would ask to be branded like that?

“Why did you do it, Sev?” The words burst out before she could think better of it. “Why did you join him?” _Why did he have to be such an idiot?_

He shifted and wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I told you. I thought it would mean children like us wouldn’t have to hide anymore, or have people like your sister calling us freaks. We could stop living in fear.”

“What about the part where I’d be a third-class citizen? Or dead? You didn’t really think they’d make an exception for me just because they let _you_ into their little club so they could use you to get to Dumbledore?”

He flinched. So that _was_ his job.

“I thought it wouldn’t be worse than it is. Muggle-borns are already shut out of most of the good jobs, so what’s the difference if everyone stops pretending otherwise? I figured the Old Purebloods would learn better or die out soon enough, and then we could really fix things.”

Her hands were shaking. “That’s a load of twod.”

“Lily, I told you I realized I was wrong. The Dark Lord was never planning to fix anything for anyone but himself.”

“No, I mean I don’t believe you thought helping a pack of entitled bigots lord it over me wouldn’t hurt anything. Do you have any idea what it’s like, knowing everyone around you assumes you were born inferior? Having to be twice as good to even come _close_ to measuring up, and then having people ask if you’re sure you really have Muggle parents? Knowing that if you accomplish anything, it’s because some old boy thought you were a charming exception?”

She hadn’t realized how much she resented Slughorn until this moment. He’d been so kind… and yet.

The words kept pouring out. “It was a thousand little cuts, every day, even from people who said they cared about me.” _It’s just words, Lily. They didn’t mean it like that, Lily. Honestly, Lils…_ “Feeling like a stranger at home, and coming back to school to snide remarks about what mudblood girls are like. Worrying that our classmates who’ve been keeping quiet will finally stop pretending to tolerate me. Waiting to see if the Wizengamot will pass that bill barring anyone with ‘ties to the Muggle community’ from working in law enforcement, or the one forbidding Muggle-borns from marrying purebloods. And I couldn’t even talk to my best friend about it, because you were off with Rosier and Wilkes complaining about how filthy mudbloods were contaminating wizarding culture and getting jobs and there ought to be a law against it.”

“I didn’t—”

“How could you possibly think encouraging them wouldn’t hurt me? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT’S LIKE FOR ME?” Her cheeks were wet, and the humiliation of crying in front of Sev only made her angrier.

Sev looked shocked. “OF COURSE I KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE!” he shouted back. “You heard what everyone said about my clothes—my hair—my Muggle accent before I fixed it—my nose,” he sputtered. “I’m a Muggle millworker’s son from down by the river, for God’s sake. I don’t belong anywhere either, Lily! Remember how Slughorn didn’t want to recognize my talent until you pushed him—because I’m too ugly for his scrapbook?” His face grew redder and redder as he talked. “And you had your own run-ins with the tossers who tried to fucking _murder_ me. I had to live in fear for _seven years_ thanks to them.”

 _No_ , she wanted to interrupt, _they stopped after fifth year, James promised_. But the words died in her throat. James said he couldn’t do anything like that now that he understood how his jokes hurt people, and all the time he’d been loosing a werewolf on the grounds. He’d _lied_ to her.

Sev kept going. “And you thought that was a good joke by fifth year. I tolerated my friends’ rubbish ideas, same as you, but I didn’t join in and _laugh_ at your pain. Were you hoping they’d accept you if you mocked poor half-bloods with the rest of them? Is that why you flirted with Potter while he had me dangling upside down?”

“IT WASN’T LIKE THAT! AND DON’T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT JAMES!”

It was a good thing the fire was between them or she might have shown him how much she remembered of her Muggle roots and throttled him. He really thought she was that cruel and calculating? Not that the truth was much better, but she was hardly going to counter that no, actually she was too gullible to live. And anyway, who was he to talk? He’d betrayed her first. He’d made friends with rich, arrogant bullies who wanted to hurt her first. At least she’d believed they’d changed; he couldn’t possibly make the same claim about his friends. He must have known what he was doing.

“Why did you even bother going to Dumbledore if you hate me so much?” she choked out. “Why not let You-Know-Who finish me off?”

He flinched as if she’d slapped him. “What are you talking about? You’re the best friend I ever had. Do you really think I’d let you die just because I was hurt? I would never do that. Not for anything.”

She gaped. What was _wrong_ with him?

Memories bubbled up of Sev as a child. How his parents rarely stopped arguing, how he sometimes had unexplained bruises, how his mother hardly noticed him unless he did something useful or magical. And how he tried to imitate his father’s glower even while claiming to hate him, and fetched and carried for his mother. How he’d defended them if Lily criticized them, even if he’d just said something critical himself.

No wonder he hadn’t cared that his Death Eater friends treated him like a stray mongrel they’d adopted for a lark. But _she’d_ never meant to hurt him—she’d put up with his prickly temper and his mumbled defenses of boys who hated her on principle for years, because he was her friend and she hoped he’d grow out of it if she gave him a chance.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he continued. “If I’d thought for a second that the Dark Lord intended mass murder, I never would have had anything to do with him.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You’re not getting it. It’s—look, I know the world is messed up, but you can’t just say it’s unfair, so let’s oppress people openly and call that better. Maybe some of the people on my side are—flawed—but at least they’re trying to make things fairer.” They weren’t mass-murderers, at least. That had to count for something. “At least they’re _trying_ not to hate people for being different.”

“Are they?”

“Of course they are!” Her voice sounded shrill and unconvincing even to her.

“How so? They’re as happy as anyone else to insult everything Muggle and wipe Muggles’ memories whenever it’s convenient.”

Lily fought to push the image of Slughorn’s blank expression out of her mind.

“Do you think your housemates didn’t make snide remarks about my Muggle father and my mum’s poor choices? I don’t see how their low opinion of Muggles can fail to affect their opinion of Muggle-borns. They certainly aren’t agitating for goblin rights, or for bringing the giants back to Britain. Dumbledore let one single werewolf attend school, but what has he or any of you done for werewolves in general?”

“That’s—I mean, Dumbledore said he sent an emissary to the werewolves—well, he tried, he said they haven’t gained the werewolves’ trust yet—”

The emissary must have been Remus, she realized. Who else could it have been? She’d wondered, and all along, the answer had been under her nose.

“To say what?” Sev asked. “‘Join us and keep being hated?’ Why don’t any of them think they’d be better off with your lot, do you think?”

“Dumbledore said Fenrir Greyback corrupted—”

“—those who thought they’d be freer with him than anyone else. He wouldn’t be half as good at recruiting angry young werewolves if he didn’t have a point. It’s the same with the Death Eaters. Seriously,” he pressed, “if Arcturus Black or Abraxas Malfoy were in charge instead, how different would it be from any other faction in the wizarding world? What’s the difference between your flawed side trying to make a few small changes for the better and any other?”

“It’s—it’s—” Lily floundered. He was wrong, she knew he was wrong—and he would still be wrong even if everyone else on her side was wrong too—but she was too tired to know how to explain. “It’s that we’re not—we aren’t trying to _rule_ anyone,” she finally stammered. “Any time you have people trying to rule people they don’t already, or keep them down if they’re rising up, things get violent. At least we’re against—against _tyranny_. You’re just trying to make yourselves the tyrants instead. That’s not changing anything. Not really.”

He was quiet, as if he were actually considering her point like a reasonable person. Damn him, why couldn’t he just be consistently _bad_ instead of jerking her around like this? But maybe he was just thinking of something caustic to say about James and Sirius and schoolyard tyrants. If so, it wasn’t fair. She hadn’t had time to think of a reason that was different. Or maybe it wasn’t, at least not in essentials even if it was in degree, and she couldn’t make it different no matter how hard she tried to believe it.

Luckily for her tattered thought processes, Sirius popped into their makeshift shelter.

“One locket full of Dark Lord soul, as promised.” He held up a heavy gold object on a chain. “I hope this snuffs him out for good so I never have to see that hateful cow again,” he said, looking as emotionally shredded as Lily felt.

“We’d better take it back to Dumbledore,” she said. “I don’t think I have enough left in me to contain Fiendfyre again tonight.”

“Neither do I.” Sirius pulled out his mirror, but twirled it in his hand instead of activating it. “My mother said some strange things before I left, probably to mess with my head. She said that what Bagshot told you was true, that Dumbledore used to be friends with Grindelwald.”

“Don’t tell me _she_ had Bathilda over for tea?” Lily exclaimed. Sure, Bathilda was old and a bit, well, traditional, but Mrs. Black? Really?

“No, she heard it from Muriel Prewett. So it isn’t just Bagshot losing it in her old age. Muriel also told her that Dumbledore’s father went to Azkaban for torturing Muggle children. Did Bagshot mention _that?_ ”

“Well… yes, but Dumbledore was only a child himself at the time. And he and Grindelwald were only friends for a couple of months before they had a falling-out.” After a pause, she added, “But how can we know what really happened? Or what it means?” After all the lies Sirius had told her, it seemed only fair that he should suffer having his trust in someone shattered too. And anyway, he _should_ be on his guard around Dumbledore. They all should.

Sirius shook his head. “It sounds completely mad.”

“While this is all very interesting,” Sev interrupted, shredding a handful of dead grass as he talked, “I think we’re all in agreement that the headmaster wants the Dark Lord eliminated. Let’s get back to Hogwarts and let him _do_ it.”

That, at least, seemed a reasonable assumption. Whatever else he might be, Dumbledore was You-Know-Who’s enemy, and You-Know-Who was the most immediate danger.

Sirius glared, but raised the mirror. “Wouldn’t want you to catch your death of cold, Snivelly. Albus Dumbledore!”

The mirror glowed. “Sirius, where have you been? I’ve tried to contact you four times. I was about to send a Patronus. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“None whatsoever. We think we’ve got the Horcrux. Where should we meet you?”

There was no reply, but Dumbledore suddenly appeared with Fawkes in a flash of crimson. Lily blinked until her eyes adjusted. That was unnerving. Dumbledore hadn’t marked his followers to track them. How had Fawkes found them?

Then she remembered why Dumbledore had James’s mirror in the first place. A security risk, he’d said. If someone got ahold of the other mirror, it could be used to locate them. He’d taken it along with the cloak, saying that the mirror would be safest at Hogwarts, and it would give them one more way to contact him in an emergency.

Even if he’d been right to do it, she couldn’t help wondering about his motives. And it creepy, no matter how good his intentions.

He looked at them penetratingly. “I can see you’ve had quite the day. Let us return to my office immediately.” They linked hands—reluctantly on all sides—and a moment later, the crimson sparkles faded from Lily’s eyes to reveal familiar silver instruments. She’d never learned what they did, she thought, wiping her hand on her robe to get rid of the feel of Sev’s clammy palm. She’d have to ask about them later.

“Now, what’s this about finding the Horcrux?” Dumbledore looked deeply skeptical. Well, he hadn’t even thought they could manage a reconnaissance mission together, had he?

Sirius plunked the locket down on the desk.

Dumbledore’s brow creased. “Is that…?” He opened a cabinet with a flick of his wand and levitated a stone basin over to his desk along with a vial of silver mist. (What unusual runes around the edges, Lily thought. Yet another set of questions for later.) He dumped the vial into the basin. Prodding it with his wand made the silvery image of a walleyed girl rise out of it. She wore a locket around her neck. Dumbledore did something else with his wand and the image expanded until all they could see was the locket at life size. It was definitely the same one.

“This is the memory of a Ministry employee named Bob Ogden,” Dumbledore explained. “He had a peculiar encounter with the Gaunt family many years ago. Merope was wearing what her father claimed to be a family heirloom inherited from Salazar Slytherin himself.”

“ _Slytherin_ made that locket?” Sirius looked like he was ready to cast Fiendfyre on it then and there, consequences be damned.

“I have no proof, but I have no reason to doubt Marvolo in this case.”

“The Dark Lord defiled a priceless historical relic?” Sev looked horrified. “Can we remove his soul-fragment without destroying it?”

“I should have expected Voldemort to be Slytherin’s descendent,” Sirius muttered. “Now his jewelry’s keeping Voldemort alive. Blast it and be done, I say.”

“Now, Sirius, you’re talking about one of our school’s founders,” Dumbledore chided, though he looked like he was hiding a smile.

“The one who got sacked.”

Lily felt a perverse impulse to defend Slytherin. She resisted. Best to stay focused on killing You-Know-Who. “Is it the Horcrux?” she broke in. “Shouldn’t we figure that out first?”

“Indeed we should. Now, let me see…” Dumbledore performed an intricate wand symphony over the locket. It flashed a sickly green in response. He sighed. “Yes, I believe we have found what we sought. It was in Little Hangleton all this time? But then what were you doing by the sea?”

With a start, Lily realized he didn’t know anything about their mission to the cave. “Kreacher wouldn’t give us the locket Regulus stole from the sea cave where You-Know-Who hid it until we retrieved Regulus for burial. But there was a cursed ring in Little Hangleton. Probably so anyone who came digging into his past wouldn’t live to talk about it.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows disappeared under his cap. “Perhaps you had better start at the beginning.”

They recounted their search of Little Hangleton and the heavily-cursed shack once inhabited by the Gaunt family.

“And then we found a gold box under the floorboards with the ugliest Quester’s ring you’ve ever seen—a black rock with the Deathly Hallows symbol scratched on it,” Sirius said.

“Which, as Black noted, was a pathetic attempt to look like an authentic ancient relic,” Sev added. “Unfortunately, the Dark Lord enjoys his little jokes and cursed it to imitate the Resurrection Stone’s effects. At least, so I gathered.”

“I turned it in my hand for a joke, and I saw—well, visions,” Sirius said. “Then Lily grabbed it out of my hand like a Muggle, and the curse got her too.”

“It wouldn’t have been so bad if you two hadn’t stood around gawking instead of helping me!” she snapped, trying to forget the apparitions.

“What are you talking about? Snivelly blasted it out of your hand immediately!”

“Time passing differently suggests a sophisticated enchantment,” Dumbledore said, looking distant. “Very curious. Were you able to retrieve the ring for study?”

“I destroyed it with Fiendfyre,” Sev said coolly.

Dumbledore went very still. “Surely that was overkill, Severus?” His troubled expression made Lily feel vindicated for a moment. Even Dumbledore thought Sev was dangerous. Then she wondered whether he’d just wanted the ring and they were wrong about his wanting you-Know-Who dead.

No. There had to be a point where the madness stopped.

“There wasn’t time to make a better plan. The ring obviously had an additional curse compelling them to some dangerous action.”

“They—the visions—wanted me to put the ring on,” Lily confirmed grudgingly. “I don’t know what would have happened, but it couldn’t have been anything good.”

“No doubt you are correct.” Dumbledore still had that distant look, and the fine lines on his face stood out. His shoulders drooped. He looked like a tired old man. “And the cave?”

The picked up the narration again—calling Kreacher, Lily’s idea, the blood-price door, the lake of Inferi.

“Then Lily did some brilliant magic,” Sirius said. “She made up a spell to disanimate Regulus on the spot.” He grinned, and Lily had the uncomfortable feeling he was flattering her so she wouldn’t mention the detail he’d omitted.

Dumbledore was too sharp, of course. “You said the boat resembled the Hogwarts boats. How, then, did the two of you enter it together? If it could carry more than one legal adult, surely you would have taken Severus with you?”

“Well, it’s like this, Professor—”

“Black is an Animagus,” Sev broke in, his expression hard. “And has been since fifth year, if not earlier. Did you know?”

Lily had lost track of how many times recently she’d seen Dumbledore truly astonished. “I most certainly did not. Is this true, Sirius?”

At least Sirius had enough decency to flush. He shifted to his dog form and back.

Dumbledore looked at Lily.

“He’d kept me in the dark about it too, Professor,” she told him with a glare at Sirius.

“I told you, they were _letting the werewolf out_. That’s how they did it. He wouldn’t have attacked them in animal form. They _did_ set me up to die; Potter wasn’t in any danger when he got cold feet and pulled me out. I _told_ you!” Sev’s eyes glittered feverishly.

“No one got hurt!” Sirius argued.

Dumbledore turned on Sirius, suddenly radiating cold fury. “I didn't believe even you capable of such recklessness. Did it cross your mind that with every full moon you were committing an offense which could have earned you all life sentences in Azkaban? Or that your friend Remus could have been given the Dementor’s Kiss for his part in your escapades? As might you, had Severus come to any harm. Did you consider that I as headmaster might have been held legally responsible for the consequences?”

Sirius stammered something incomprehensible. Dumbledore pushed onward. “And did it occur to you that your ability might have been relevant to the war effort?”

“I did use it! I just didn’t think—”

“Sirius.” The force of Dumbledore’s stare made Lily shiver even though she wasn’t on the receiving end. “Did Peter Pettigrew master the transformation?”

Sirius winced. “Er—yes. Not until weeks after James and I did, mind you.”

So many things made horrible sense now. The hushed conversations that mysteriously ended when she entered the room. The stupid nicknames. Sirius’s comment about hunting—

“He’s a rat, isn’t he? _Wormtail?_ ”

“Yes. Extremely useful for—oh. Oh.” His stricken expression showed the implications had finally caught up with Sirius. What secrets could Peter have overheard, what sabotage could he have carried out because no one was checking for rats? How many Order members might have died because of his secret? The Prewett twins? The McKinnons? The Bones family?

“It is fortunate that you have managed to make yourself useful.” Dumbledore looked pointedly at the locket. “Otherwise I might be tempted to turn you over to the Ministry as an unregistered Animagus.”

Sev burst out, “Headmaster, you can’t be planning to overlook—”

“I will employ even those who have made the gravest errors of judgement if it will aid Voldemort’s downfall,” Dumbledore said with an edge to his voice. “Or do you want me to let _everyone_ who might have made such errors face the consequences?”

Sev met Dumbledore’s eyes for only seconds before dropping his gaze to his folded hands. “No, Headmaster. Not until the Dark Lord is defeated.”

“Good. Now, as we finally have a way to deal him a vital blow, do you think we could return to that subject?”

No one argued.

Lily stared at the glittering emerald chips embedded in an S-shape within the intricate metalwork. Hard to believe it contained so much evil. Something about the whole situation bothered her in a way she couldn’t put her finger on.

Dumbledore set about trying to open the locket, but it yielded to nothing any of them could think of, magical or Muggle. “As much as I would like to send this fragment of Voldemort’s soul to its end immediately, your experience with the cursed ring worries me,” he finally said. “I believe we should take at least a few days to see if this artifact can provide any more clues to his plans before we act. And, if possible, discover whether we can save a priceless historical relic,” he added offhandedly. “Not that I have any great confidence in that possibility.”

The locket seemed to throb with malevolent energy. Lily felt despair just looking at it, and that maddening itch in the back of her mind.

“Do you think a dementor could Kiss it?” Sev asked. “Do they eat partial souls?”

“I’ve never had occasion to find out.”

“Find me a way to visit Azkaban and I’ll see if they like it as a snack,” Sirius said. “It should be easy enough. I’ll be back before tea time. Do you think we could have cake and biscuits to celebrate?”

That was it. That was what was bothering her. “Could he have made more than one?”

They looked almost as if they’d forgotten she was there. “What?”

“The ring wasn’t a very good trap, was it? He put curses on the shack to repel people without them realizing why, and more that might have killed them before they got anywhere near the ring. That’s no way to lure people in. And why would he protect an ugly old ring if it didn’t matter to him? So maybe it was a Horcrux too.”

“It must have been a decoy. Why would he make more than one of the blasted things?”

She shrugged. “It’s not like he has any aversion to murder. Or cares about the state of his soul, I expect. Three is a magically powerful number. Why not make a three-part soul?”

“Is that possible?” Sev asked.

Dumbledore stared at his hands. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I don’t know that anyone has ever thought to try. This is a deeply troubling possibility.”

“If he made two, why not three? Or four?” Sirius asked. “How can we tell how many he’s made, or when he’s mortal again?”

“I think I had better have a little chat with Horace,” Dumbledore said. “He was close to Tom once. Perhaps he’ll know whether he had any particular numerical fixations as a boy. Severus, I realize it will be difficult for you to question your, ah, contacts without alerting Voldemort to our line of inquiry…”

Sev gave a stiff nod. “I’ll see what I can do. He used Regulus Black’s house-elf to hide one of them. Maybe he used other followers in a similar fashion.”

Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes. “Now that we have that settled, I think we should adjourn for the night. You’ve all had a tiring day, and we have a great deal of work ahead of us. We’ll need our rest. I’ll escort Lily and Harry to their refuge. Sirius, keep your mirror close.” When they didn’t move, he returned to his customary whimsy. “Come along, pip pip!”

#

Having Harry back in her arms was the only thing right about the whole day. It broke her heart how he clung to her as if he’d thought she was gone forever. Judging by how red and puffy his eyes were, he was exhausted from crying. Once reassured, it took him only about ten minutes to fall asleep, thumb in his mouth.

Dumbledore poured tea and smiled beatifically as she rocked Harry. “Truly, a magic greater than any wand can perform,” he murmured, almost too low for her to hear.

“Do you think Professor Slughorn will know anything?” she asked, not able to bring herself to look at him in case her face betrayed too much.

“I sincerely hope so. He seemed to cool on Tom during the boy’s NEWT years, so perhaps he will be willing to talk. To change the subject, I would be very curious to know exactly how you managed to put Regulus Black to rest.”

His voice was mild, but the hairs on Lily’s neck prickled. While she’d been doubting him, had he been growing suspicious of her? She’d never shown any special facility for—this kind of magic. What did he think it meant that she’d improvised it in mid-combat?

She kept her face turned to Harry, afraid to see Dumbledore’s expression. “I thought that whatever force was animating the body must be bound to it somehow. Maybe it could be unbound. So I combined the wand movement for Emancipare with Finite Incantatem and Expelliarmus—because you could look at the animating force as a weapon, or maybe the body is the weapon. Anyway, whichever way around it is, it could be disarmed. And I used the incantation ‘Requiescat in Pace,’ because that’s what I wanted him to do, and it’s a traditional phrase for tombstones, so it seemed fitting.”

“How remarkable. As was this entire mission. How ever did you manage to persuade Sirius and Severus to work together?”

Lily rubbed Harry’s back, more to soothe herself than her sleeping baby. “We all agreed that defeating You-Know-Who is the most important thing.”

“Ah, a harmonious alliance, then?” He sipped his tea.

She looked up incredulously into his annoyingly twinkly eyes. Harmonious? Those two? The way they kept trying to one-up each other when they weren’t obviously thinking of killing each other? The way they’d _both_ become strangers to her, strangers with dark secrets? The way they somehow brought out a terrifying side she’d never suspected in herself?

“Not remotely.”

He smiled. “Forgive me. I’d hoped they would have learned to bury their grudges by now. One can always hope. But I should let you get some rest. I will be in touch in the morning.”

“Wait—what happened to Emmeline?”

“Cleared of all charges and safely home.”

Lily sighed with relief. “Good. What should I do now?”

“Do about what?”

“Do here. While I’m waiting. I know it might take a while for you and—Snape—to get the information we need. I can’t just sit here; I’ll go mad.”

“I see. Well, since you have become so adept at research and spell adaptation, perhaps you could turn your mind in that direction. The Order can always use better defenses. Even slight improvements may save lives. I can have more books delivered, if you wish.”

And with that, he vanished, and she was left to face the hurricane in her mind.

Research. It would have to do, she decided as she settled Harry into a freshly-conjured cot. The thought that Dumbledore considered her work mere adaptation left a bitter taste in her mouth, though. She’d _created_ that spell. Sev and Sirius thought it was brilliant. James would have too. He wouldn’t think she was a cute little Muggle-born making “slight improvements.”

No, that wasn’t fair. Dumbledore hadn’t said anything about her being Muggle-born. (Though Sirius had. Again. Were all his protestations of tolerance just youthful rebellion? Had he ever thought of her as a friend, or just “James’s girl”?) But still, just because Dumbledore was one of the most powerful wizards of the century and had eighty years of practice on her didn’t mean he could belittle her accomplishments. _He_ hadn’t figured out how to disanimate Inferi.

Or had he? She pulled at her hair by the roots in frustration. Maybe he’d had a method all along and kept it to himself—no doubt he would say for good reasons. It had almost been worth the shock of the Marauders’ Animagus project to see him on the wrong end of a secret for once.

Almost. Was Sev right, and that incident in fifth year was a deliberate murder attempt? James had sworn it was a terrible accident. But he’d also said—no, he hadn’t said, she realized, he’d implied, the way Dumbledore did—that it had involved one of Hagrid’s pets, which was about ten miles from the truth. Even if they didn’t mean to kill Sev, the plan must have been something nearly as terrible if they kept it from her all this time.

No, she couldn’t think this way. James had _died_ for her. And whatever mistakes he’d made, he’d always opposed—

—Dark magic. What _was_ Dark magic, really? Miranda Goshawk said it was more or less all offensive magic. Mortificus Rogue said it was magic with permanent or semi-permanent effects that needed life-force, willpower, or belief. The Ministry said it was whatever they disapproved of anyone casting without authorization. Who was right? Or were they all using the term differently? Did “Dark magic” have any fixed meaning at all?

If she’d understood what Sev really believed when they were in school, could she have figured out how to talk sense into him?

Lily collapsed to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees, digging her nails into her arms. Too late. It was too late for all that. Sev had been branded with the Dark Mark. James was dead, and she’d never be able to ask him what he’d done or why he’d done it. Dumbledore—she might never understand him. And no book was ever going to give her a simple, universally true answer about Dark magic. She had to work out what was right herself.

If only she could be sure she was up to the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort used to be good at discovering a prospective follower's dreams and giving an appropriate sales pitch. I doubt that every Death Eater had quite the same idea of what they were signing up for. And if there were discrepancies between the recruitment pitch and the Circle Time speeches, well, the Dark Lord would explain that not everyone was ready for all of his ideas and would have to be gradually brought to the right way of thinking. But he’s told _you_ the truth, because _you’re_ special…
> 
> Muggle accent: Since the British wizarding community is tiny and most of them go to the same school and shop on the same three streets, I figure there must be a lot of accent leveling going on. Maybe they have preserved a few broad groupings (like “general Scottish” or “Anywhere, Northern England” rather than the probably dozens of Muggle variants)? Either way, a strong regional accent and using a lot of dialect words probably marks you out as someone who has close Muggle ties. (Hagrid with his West Country accent makes me wonder if his dad had a Muggle parent, and Mr. Hagrid and Fridwulfa initially bonded over being outsiders. Mr. Hagrid may have had had wizarding ancestors too, given that he named his son Rubeus. Or maybe he just hoped a traditional wizarding name would help the boy fit in.) Incidentally, it’s lucky wizards have constant minor Muggle influence to keep their speech from diverging too far, or they’d stand out even more whenever they tried to talk to Muggles.
> 
> The mirrors as possible locating devices was Terri_Testing’s idea.


	10. What Is Required

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who would have thought that Petunia, of all people, would have something useful to contribute? Just in time, too: Voldemort is obviously planning something big. He's ordered Lucius to pass Severus a certain diary, to be palmed off on a student...

Lily didn’t get to sleep until the first dirty gray light of dawn seeped through the window. She’d spent the night studying communication charms and guns to keep the dark thoughts at bay—with little success.

Questionable ancestry. Like a Muggle. A thousand cuts, as she’d told Sev. His barb about trying to be accepted had sunk deep. As she’d admitted, she’d grown to feel like a stranger at home. The past few weeks in the Muggle world had proved how foreign it was to her now. (At what point had she started thinking of Muggles as “them”?) Maybe she’d been more desperate to fit in as a witch than she’d realized.

His accusation about her flirting with James while he tormented Sev gnawed at her too. It hadn’t been like that, she was sure of it. She’d honestly loathed James back then. Mostly. And Sev had already betrayed her by making friends with would-be Death Eaters, so of course she wasn’t enthusiastic about defending him anymore. But she shouldn’t have stormed off and let them do whatever they did afterward. It had been her duty as a prefect to stop that sort of thing. And she couldn’t deny that James attacking Sev for fun like that didn’t exactly support his claim that the prank-gone-wrong had convinced him he needed to change.

Whatever the rest of them had really done, _she_ needed to be better.

When Dumbledore arrived with a bag of Honeydukes sweets for Harry and a stack of books for her, she took a deep breath and said, “I need to visit my sister.”

Dumbledore looked at her sharply.

“Not for long,” she added hastily. “And I know it’s not safe to take Harry. He’ll have to stay with the Hogwarts elves again.”

Dumbledore relaxed, and Lily tried not to think the word _hostage_. There was such a thing as too much paranoia, no matter what Alastor Moody said.

“It’s just that I haven’t seen Petunia since… I don’t even remember, and she’ll be furious that I didn’t send a Christmas card. And no one’s cast protective spells on her house. I have to do something! She’s—she’s almost the only family I have left.”

“I quite understand. Anyone with a sister in danger would naturally want to protect her.” He looked more sympathetic that she’d seen him in a long time, even a little sad. “Did you have a time in mind?”

“Now, if possible. Er—what day is it again?”

“It is Sunday, December 27.”

“Would you mind reviewing the protective spells I have planned? Maybe you know ways to strengthen them, or other invisible spells the Ministry won’t object to.”

She could get this right, at least.

#

Lily had visited Petunia’s new home in Little Whinging once, just after she left Hogwarts. She remembered enough of the back garden to Apparate there. Better than whipping off an invisibility cloak in the middle of the street.

Perfectly-trimmed lawn showed vivid emerald under the melting snow. The hedge was aggressively square, the bare rosebushes planted at mathematically precise intervals along the house. Petunia would settle for nothing less.

Lily stuffed the cloak into her magically-expanded pocket and smoothed her hair. A little magical tucking and pinning had turned her dress robes into a passable frock. Petunia would appreciate that. Or at least wouldn’t find much to object to.

She gulped and knocked on the back door.

It flew open, and there was Petunia, brandishing a kitchen knife. She stepped back in surprise when she saw Lily. “You!”

Lily reached for her wand. “Who were you expecting? Are you all right?” They hadn’t been attacked, had they?

“I thought it must be some hooligan breaking in to steal our telly! Who else would show up at the back door?” Petunia snapped. “What are you doing here?”

“What kind of hooligan would knock? I came to see you.”

Petunia pursed her lips, the expression in her gray-green eyes unreadable. “Vernon’s gone to the supermarket for me. You’d better come in, then.”

Stepping into the kitchen was as much like stepping into another world as walking through the arch into Diagon Alley. Lily could see her reflection in the white linoleum. Green and pink tea-towels matched the floral wallpaper border and salmon walls. Everything from the table to the stove was new and obviously expensive. Only the cleanliness and order reminded her of their childhood home.

Mum and Dad had been so proud. All those years of scrimping and saving and mending and making sure they never, ever looked poor (because they _weren’t_ , not really, not like when Mum and Dad were children, and definitely not like the Snapes) had finally paid off. Petunia’s typing course had landed her a steady office job, and then her perfect comportment had landed her a husband who was going places. Their letters were so glowing that Lily almost felt jealous.

Petunia put the kettle on and wiped the gleaming countertops. “I suppose that husband of yours is too busy to come, or we don’t have enough dancing pineapples for his taste.”

A lump formed in Lily’s throat.

“If you meant to show up for Christmas, you’re two days late. Or do you people not use normal calendars either?”

“James is dead.”

Petunia whirled around. “What?”

“He was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Petunia didn’t seem to notice her cleaning rag dripping onto her immaculate floor. The long lines of her throat tensed. Suddenly, she banged open a cupboard and pulled out teacups with a clatter, barely managing to pour the tea without spilling it. “How? Who?”

“That—terrorist—I told you about when I explained why I couldn’t visit for a while. He found us.”

Petunia’s hands shook around her teacup. Lily felt ashamed that hers didn’t.

“But he… he let you live?” It came out in a whisper.

“No.” Lily stared into her tea. “I had to jump out the window with Harry and Apparate away. We… we almost didn’t make it.”

“Harry… that’s your boy?”

“Keeping him safe is the reason I’m still alive. Your son is almost the same age, isn’t he?”

Petunia started. “Oh! Dudley will be waking up from his nap any minute. He’ll need his snack.” She jumped up and buried her face in the fridge.

She’d got ahold of herself by the time she had Dudley’s snack laid out on his high chair. “I’m sorry about James.”

It must have cost her a lot to say that, given how much she’d despised him. Lily was touched. “I’m sorry I missed Christmas.” She smiled weakly and something in her chest loosened when the corners of Petunia’s mouth twitched up in return.

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, drinking their tea. Finally Petunia asked, “What’s apper—whatever you called it?”

“Oh. Sorry. It’s—” She hadn’t had to explain magic to anyone in years. “It’s disappearing and reappearing somewhere else.”

“You just click your heels together, you mean?”

Lily was baffled for a moment. Then she remembered: that old film they’d watched together when they were little, about the girl who got carried by a tornado into a magical world. She’d clicked her ruby slippers together three times to go home.

“Something like that. Only you spin on your heel, and you can hurt yourself very badly if you do it wrong. But concentrating on where you want to go, that part is exactly right.”

Petunia’s long face grew longer. “You mean your kind could just appear in my kitchen any time they wanted?”

Lily flushed. “It’s bad manners.”

“Oh, so you do have manners!”

“And there’s enchantments to _stop_ anyone from doing it. I can cast them on your house.”

“Magic on _my_ house?”

“It’s invisible,” Lily reassured her. “No dancing pineapples, I promise. Vernon would never even know if you didn’t want to tell him. I—I just want to make sure you’re safe, Tuney.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times to stop calling me that.” Petunia jumped up and started scrubbing at the countertops again. “It’s a good thing our parents didn’t live to see this. Their favorite daughter’s beautiful magical world turning out to be full of freaks and murderers. I _told_ them that Snape boy proved there was something wrong with your lot! Is it everything you dreamed, flying away to a magical land?”

“What do you mean, favorite daughter? Their letters to me were mostly about you! They couldn’t stop talking about how you were the best typist in your course and how important your husband is going to be and how lovely your house is!”

“But never as good as _your_ accomplishments. Prettiest Head Girl with a husband richer than Croesus from a ‘fine old family,’ not that anyone normal has ever heard of them.”

Lily opened and closed her mouth several times before she found words. “That’s—that’s not how it was at all. You were exactly the daughter they always wanted. Mostly they told me how much they worried about me not having O-Levels and asked why I couldn’t I try harder to be respectable like you. They thought my potions ingredients were disgusting!”

“Well, they never said anything about that to _me_. All I ever heard is how delightful your magic tricks were and how rich your husband was.”

Petunia hunched over the sink. It took Lily a moment to realize what it meant that her sister’s shoulders were shaking. All this time, she’d really thought…?

She approached cautiously. “They loved you, Petunia. So much.” She tentatively laid a hand on Petunia’s shoulder. “They _loved_ you. As much as you and I love our children.” Her voice caught.

Petunia flung her arms around Lily and nearly crushed her in a tight hug. “I miss them. I miss _you_.”

“Me too.” Lily realized she was crying as hard as her sister.

“Why did you have to go away to that awful school? That’s when everything started going wrong.”

“I’m here now.”

They broke apart awkwardly after a few minutes, pretending they didn’t see each other wiping their eyes.

“I suppose you’ll have to stay in hiding.” Petunia sniffled into a lace-edged handkerchief.

“For now. Until You-Know-Who is dead.”

“And… this spell. Can you cast it on the Grunnings building too? What about the car?”

“Just tell me how to find the office and the supermarket and give me your number plates. I’ll do everything I can.”

Petunia let out a shuddery breath. “This terrorist. He can be killed, can’t he? You said your people weren’t sure.” She turned away again to retrieve paper and a biro and started scribbling down the information.

“I think I’ve found a way to weaken him. He’s well protected, though. It won’t be easy.”

“What, don’t you have magical sniper rifles with bullets that can turn corners?”

An entirely inappropriate giggle bubbled up. It came out sounding more like a hiccough. “Would you believe that’s one of the things we _don’t_ have? That and nukes and telly. And orange juice. You wouldn’t believe how much I miss orange juice.”

“You mean you really do drink pumpkin juice? That wasn’t just something you brewed up as a prank?”

“Unfortunately. I’ve almost learned to pretend I like it.”

Petunia handed her the paper. “Freaks, like I always said.” But she was nearly smiling.

“I’ve actually thought about trying to shoot him,” Lily said as she tucked it into her pocket. “Wizards tend to forget about Muggle methods, so he might not have as many protections against them. But they didn’t teach us where to buy guns in primary school, and I’m not sure I want to ask _that_ at the library.”

“Oh! Well, if it’s Muggle methods you need, follow me.” Petunia marched out into the corridor. She opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs and ducked inside, emerging a moment later with a long, thin case and a small fat box that rattled. “Here. Vernon only bought it to impress his boss. He hasn’t used it in three years. He’ll never miss it. And I’d feel much better not having a shotgun in the house now that we have Dudley. He’s such a clever boy, he’ll find it in no time.”

A shotgun. A real, working shotgun. “You know, I think this is the best Christmas present I’ve ever had.”

“You would.” They fell into another awkward silence.

A squall upstairs broke it. “That’s Dudley. Don’t worry, Dudders, Mummy’s coming!”

Lily looked longingly up the stairs. She’d never met her nephew. But she really ought to go. Those spells would take some time to cast.

“Tuney—”

“Lily—”

They spoke at the same time. Stopped, uncertain. “Be careful,” Petunia finally said.

“I will.”

Petunia quivered, looking up the stairs, then pulled Lily into another hug. “And come back.”

“I promise.”

She let herself out and stood in the garden, gathering her thoughts. Petunia appeared at an upper window holding a chubby blond baby. She guided his hand to wave at Lily. Lily waved back, then held up the shotgun case. _Watch this_ , she mouthed, then pushed the case into her magically-expanded pocket.

Petunia smiled.

#

Anti-Apparition Jinx. Fireproofing. Durability. Salvio Hexia. And Dumbledore’s contribution, an adaptation of a Muggle-repelling spell. _Repello cibicidas mortium_ : repel Death Eaters. He said it was a disparaging way of putting it, which was a touch Lily appreciated. She used the wand movement for a long-lasting effect, trying not to get distracted by the question of whether this was technically Dark magic, and focused on the image of the Dark Mark. If it worked, anyone bearing that mark would suddenly remember an urgent appointment and hurry away.

She had just finished with Vernon’s car when Dumbledore’s Patronus reached her. A quick glance confirmed no Muggles looking in her direction, but she ducked invisibly next to a car anyway so the silvery form would follow.

“Urgent meeting in my office. Come as soon as possible.”

She Apparated to her usual spot outside the grounds and pulled the borrowed school broom out of her pocket, fumbling against the shotgun case in the process. Dumbledore had left his window open. It was just large enough for her to dive straight inside.

“What’s happened?” she asked without preamble, pulling off the cloak. Dumbledore and Sev sat facing each other across the desk, looking grim. A small black book lay between them.

“Lucius Malfoy passed this diary to Severus with instructions to ensure that a student acquire it. Look inside.”

How Sirius would love to see a diary belonging to Malfoy. _Dear Diary, made Victoria sponge for Death Eater tea this afternoon._ She almost felt let down when she flipped it open and saw it was blank.

No—not entirely. There was an inscription: T.M. Riddle.

“Is it… one of _them?_ ”

Dumbledore nodded. “I dare not write in it, but I believe it to be rather more interactive than the average Horcrux. I can only imagine the effects it would have on a child who confided in its pages.”

“What did Malfoy say it would do?”

“He said it would open the Chamber of Secrets and release Slytherin’s monster,” Sev answered stiffly.

“He wants to set a _basilisk_ on the school?”

“I do not believe he knows the precise nature of the creature.”

“Only that it should cause enough destruction that it could be blamed for my death,” Dumbledore added.

His _death?_ If You-Know-Who thought now was the right time to dispose of one of his only effective opponents, he must have something big planned. Like officially conquering wizarding Britain. Did he have someone else lined up to kill Bagnold or Crouch? Or both? Suddenly, their mission had become a race against the clock. They had to kill him now, before he did whatever he had planned.

And before he figured out that Sev was conspiring with Dumbledore against him instead of setting a basilisk loose and plotting the perfect assassination.

“What do we do?”

“The headmaster says that the first time, two students encountered the basilisk’s gaze through reflections, one in a suit of armor and one in a bathroom mirror. They lived, but were Petrified until a Mandrake Restorative Draught could be brewed.”

Which meant—no, it was too horrible. They couldn’t. “You’re going to Petrify students to fake the attacks, aren’t you. _Muggle-born_ students.”

“And daub warnings about the Heir of Slytherin on the walls and other such nonsense.” Sev sounded as disgusted as she felt.

“Madam Pomfrey will have to be told enough to cooperate,” Dumbledore added. “I believe we can keep the details sub rosa. She won’t question that I intercepted a powerful Dark object and devised a plan to draw the culprit out into the open.”

“But Petrifying students!”

“Would you prefer the basilisk?”

“Of course not!”

She shoved the chair aside and paced the office wildly. He didn’t understand.

“Lily, I regret that the students will be frightened, and some temporarily incapacitated, but it really is in their best interest.”

It couldn’t be the only way. What would get through? “And if one of them is so traumatized that they grow up wanting revenge on the magical world for being the kind of place where teachers Petrify them without warning? What’s the point of defeating one Dark Lord if we create another in the process?”

“What do you suggest, then?” Dumbledore’s voice was sharp. People didn’t question him like this at Order meetings. Probably no one had for a long time.

“Let them cooperate.”

He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“You said it yourself: no one will question that you intercepted a powerful Dark object and came up with a plan to catch the perpetrator. _Tell_ the students you choose. _Let_ them agree to be Petrified. Or better yet, hide them somewhere and Transfigure pillows into their likenesses so everyone thinks they’re still in the Hospital Wing. Let them be allies instead of victims.”

“I agree,” Sev said quietly. “They’ll never forget the terror of powerlessness. Don’t inflict that on them if there’s a choice.”

Something about the way he said it made Lily sure he wasn’t just trying to placate her. Of course, he would know about feeling helpless, and what extremes it might tempt someone to.

Dumbledore tapped his fingertips together. “It may be possible,” he finally agreed. “Though I cannot promise anything. Now, to other business. I have spoken with Horace, and when confronted with the fact that he’d already mentioned Horcruxes before being Obliviated, he confessed that Tom Riddle once asked him about the possible benefits of a seven-part soul.”

“ _Seven?_ You mean there could be six of those things?”

“Potentially. But bear in mind that we already possess at least two and have likely destroyed a third.”

“But they could be anything. Anywhere.” Lily imagined spending her life searching for Horcruxes, growing old under the invisibility cloak. Harry growing up that way. That couldn’t happen.

“I may have a lead on one of them already,” Dumbledore continued. “Before Tom disappeared, he visited a witch named Hephzibah Smith in the course of his duties at Borgin and Burke’s. She was poisoned soon afterward—allegedly by her confused, elderly house-elf—and her family then discovered that two of her treasures had gone missing. One was a locket said to have belonged to Salazar Slytherin, which Mrs. Smith had acquired from Burke several years earlier. He, in turn, recalled purchasing it from a ragged young witch for a paltry sum.”

“And the other?”

“A cup said to have belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. I did not realize the true significance at the time, but in retrospect… well. It seems clear enough now.”

“Could he be collecting Founders’ artifacts specifically?” Sev looked aghast.

“It is possible. He would see them as worthy repositories of his soul. The ring, whatever its true origins, was of some antiquity and connected with one of the great families, which further suggests that he at least prefers notable magical artifacts. This diary appears to be an anomaly.”

“What other Founders’ artifacts are there?” Lily realized for what felt like the thousandth time in her life how little she knew about the legends the wizard-raised took for granted.

“The Sword of Gryffindor,” Sev said. “It hasn’t been seen in over a hundred years. And didn’t he have a signet ring?”

“So it is said, though no one has seen it in centuries, if it truly existed. Rowena Ravenclaw was said to have a diadem which enhanced the wearer’s wisdom,” Dumbledore added. “There is an artistic representation in Ravenclaw Tower. It too may be purely legendary, however. Her grimoire is in private hands.”

“What about the Sorting Hat?” They both turned to her. “I know it’s unlikely, since you keep it in your office. But it was Gryffindor’s, wasn’t it?”

Dumbledore immediately crossed to the Hat’s stool and performed his detection spell. It remained inert. He sighed. “At least we can feel at ease around the Sorting Hat.”

The thought of what the Sorting Hat might have done if corrupted… Yes, Lily was glad the Hat was safe. Even though it meant more searching. “Not much to go on, is it,” she said glumly. “I don’t suppose Tom told Myrtle all his plans before he killed her?”

Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled. “Not Myrtle, perhaps, but the House ghosts are extremely knowledgeable about historical events. Perhaps they can recall the last known whereabouts of the missing artifacts or know of others we have overlooked.”

“I’ll talk to the Bloody Baron and the Grey Lady if you’ll take Nick and the Fat Friar,” Sev agreed. “We can divide the rest of the ghosts between us if they don’t know anything.”

“What can I do?” Lily asked.

“I believe you can help best by continuing with your research,” Dumbledore said, as she’d known he would. Trapped in the safe house again.

At least now she had a gun.

#

No meeting summons came until three days after the new year. Lily was the last to arrive, both dreading whatever the latest news was and relieved something had finally happened to break the tension of waiting. She settled Harry in a conjured cot with his stuffed lion before lowering herself into the chair between Sirius and Sev.

“I’ve worked out a method of text-based communication,” she said, pulling out a handful of brochures she’d duplicated from one she’d picked up when she rented the cottage. _Come see Polperro, Cornish gem!_ they proclaimed, accompanied by a drawing of fishermen’s cottages on the coast. The reverse had smaller text explicating the town’s many virtues.

“They’re all linked,” she explained. “So if you need to send a message—” she tapped the brochure to demonstrate—“we’ll all get it.” _Come see Hogwarts, Scottish basilisk’s lair!_ now blazoned across the top, and the drawing showed the castle. “That’s for shorter messages. You can use the back for longer ones. The brochures will warm when a message comes in, hopefully enough to feel it when it’s in your pocket. And you can always switch it back to the original text if you need to hide it.” She tapped again, and the Cornish village returned.

“Brilliant,” Sirius said, grabbing his copy. “I hope Hagrid doesn’t have a basilisk, though. Now what’s this about six Horcruxes?”

“Up to six,” Sev corrected. “We don’t know if he’s finished the set. No more than five now, if the ring was one, and we have two more.”

“Two?”

“I intercepted one before it could be smuggled into the school,” Dumbledore said smoothly. “Tom Riddle’s old diary. It is highly atypical and clearly meant to cause some sort of unpleasantness.”

“Unpleasantness. Right.” Sirius’s eyes were hard. “You might be able to sell that story to kids and your loyal staff, but I’m not that gullible. When you say you intercepted it, you mean Snivellus here tried to bring it in. So what’s he still doing here?”

Dumbledore sighed. “Do try to have a little faith, Sirius. Severus handed it over to me as soon as it came into his possession.”

“And where did he get it? Mulciber? The Lestranges? Malfoy? It was Malfoy, wasn’t it? Why did he trust you with it?”

“Why shouldn’t he? We’re friends.” Sev smiled bitterly. “Rather like you and Pettigrew, I imagine.”

“Why, you slimy little—”

Harry babbled anxiously through the bars of his cot. Lily picked him up and he clung to her, tugging on her hair.

“Sirius, if you wouldn’t mind, we should return to the task at hand,” Dumbledore said. “Unlike your hunt for Peter, Severus’s inquiries have been fruitful.”

Red blotches spread across Sirius’s cheeks and neck. Lily wasn’t sure what she hated worse: Dumbledore’s mild-mannered cruelty and Sev’s smirk, or her own impulse to join them. If only Sirius had told them about Peter’s Animagus form…

“The Bloody Baron recalled Tom Riddle asking him questions as ‘an admiring student of history.’ In one of those discussions, the Baron let slip that the Grey Lady is Helena Ravenclaw, Rowena’s daughter.”

“A fact she prefers to keep private,” Dumbledore interjected. “For many reasons, as I’m sure you can imagine. She usually refuses to discuss her life.”

“The Baron was her contemporary, and Rowena tasked him with retrieving her daughter and her diadem—which is real after all—after Helena stole it and fled to Albania. He failed on both counts.” His expression had that masked look that meant he was hiding something. Lily had a feeling it wasn’t to the Baron’s credit. Failed how, exactly? Not for the first time, she wondered how he’d come by all those bloodstains.

“The Grey Lady confirmed everything.”

Sirius scowled. “That’s it? There was a diadem, and Voldemort might or might not have found it, and then might or might not have left it there or hidden it somewhere else? That doesn’t tell us anything about how to find the bloody thing!”

“Patience, Sirius. Please, Severus, continue.”

“While celebrating his release on Saturday night, Igor Karkaroff discovered a desire to taunt several of his companions, including your dear cousin Bellatrix, about how much the Dark Lord trusted him, and how he might soon replace them all in the Dark Lord’s favor.”

Lily pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything. She could imagine how this Karkaroff had come by such a sudden impulse.

“While Bellatrix managed not to actually disclose any secrets, she did let slip that the Dark Lord had entrusted her with one. Ordinarily, I would put this down to empty boasting, but given that he used Regulus to hide one and Lucius to convey another…” He twirled his wand lazily. “She seems an equally suitable candidate, don’t you think?”

Sirius still looked murderous, so Lily cut in. They had to keep on task. “So that’s at least one, maybe two Horcruxes we have clues for. I’ve been thinking. You have that spell to check whether an object is a Horcrux, Professor, but is there a way to detect one from farther off? In case we know one is probably nearby, but not exactly where?”

“An interesting thought. Possibly.” Dumbledore looked thoughtful.

“Your spell incorporates Homenum Revelio, doesn’t it?” Sev asked. “What else?” He had that intent look he got whenever they’d been absorbed in solving a magical problem.

Sirius’s leg jiggled as if he were restless. Or… nervous? She turned to him. “You have an idea?”

He started, looking sheepish. “Not exactly. It wouldn’t work for, er, anywhere you hadn’t been before. Or anywhere you don’t know really well. Maybe not for anywhere but Hogwarts—I think we tapped into some existing magic somehow.”

“ _What_ wouldn’t work?”

“We, er, made a map of the school and the grounds. It’s spelled to show all the people walking around using a combination of the Homonculous Charm and Homenum Revelio. I don’t know the theory behind Homenum Revelio, but does it track souls? Could it track a piece of one if we made maps of other places?”

Sev flushed deep red as Sirius talked. “Do you mean that not only could you lot hide under that cloak to ambush me, and not only could your little rat-friend act as a lookout no one would suspect, but you had a map that let you _track my every move?_ Headmaster—”

Harry, who had been banging his lion against Lily’s shoulder, suddenly stopped and cried, “Mamamama!”

“Mummy’s got you! Everything’s okay!” she said, rubbing Harry’s back and glaring at the others.

“When I said to keep to the topic at hand, I meant both of you,” Dumbledore said sharply. “This map might be of use for a certain _other_ project.”

The fake basilisk attacks. She still hated thinking of it. Not that she wanted to think about… whatever it meant that the Sirius and the others had been secretly tracking every person in the castle. That was creepy.

“Sirius, do you have this map?” Dumbledore asked.

“Filch confiscated it during seventh year. He won’t know what it is, though. It just looks like blank parchment when you haven’t used the passphrase, and it insults you if you don’t get it right. I hope he hasn’t binned it.”

“We had better search Mr. Filch’s office. If I act as lookout and distraction should it be required, can you find out whether it remains with his collection of confiscated items?”

“Now?”

“Unless you have a more pressing appointment?”

Sirius had nothing to say to that, of course, so off they went, Sirius Disillusioned. Leaving her with Sev.

“How is that other project going?” she asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

From what she could see out of the corner of her eye, he wasn’t looking at her either. “We’re still laying the groundwork. The diary probably wouldn’t have got its hooks too deeply into the unlucky student yet, even assuming that I planted it on one staying here over Christmas the day I received it. Once the students have returned, someone will carelessly leave an old volume of the _Prophet_ out in the library, open to the issue about a mysterious death at school. That should cause some chatter to set the scene.”

“So no threats in blood on the walls yet.”

He grimaced. “I’m afraid we’ll have to kill Hagrid’s roosters for that.”

“Better see if you can drive a lot of spiders out of the castle too.”

“Good idea.”

Silence rose between them like a wall. Lily rocked Harry. That calmed both of them.

After an age, Dumbledore and Sirius returned.

“Got it!” Sirius exclaimed. He unfolded a large piece of parchment on the desk and tapped it with his wand. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

A few months ago, Lily probably would have found that amusing, but now a vow of bad intentions made her skin crawl. But if the map could help them find Horcruxes or ensure no innocent students were caught in the middle of the basilisk scheme, she’d let it pass. For now.

Dots with tiny labels moved across the map. There they all were in Dumbledore’s office, Harry included. Professor McGonagall was in her office very late. Despite herself, Lily leaned forward as much as she could while holding Harry to study it. Harry reached for the moving dots. She sighed and stepped back. “All right, how did you did you do it?”

As Sirius explained, Sev looked like he was trying very hard not to be impressed. It was awfully clever. Even Dumbledore thought so, judging by his expression.

Tom Riddle didn’t appear on the map by any of his names, but that was to be expected. “After all,” she said, “it’s not like he had a chance to come back after he left school to hide one.”

“He did apply for the Defense professorship shortly after he returned under his new name, in fact,” Dumbledore said. “But I know this castle very well and am fairly certain he did not hide anything here, Horcrux or otherwise.”

He paused. “Unless… yes, he might have been arrogant enough to assume… and if the request was an excuse to enter the castle… I don’t suppose any of you have ever encountered the Room of Requirement?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s orange juice next to the pumpkin juice by Harry’s fourth year, but things might have been different in the 1970s. I imagine there’s a slow, steady cultural pressure bringing things like knitted sweaters and radios and orange juice into the wizarding world.
> 
> As in canon, Karkaroff made a plea deal. He didn't tell his colleagues that, of course! They'll probably find out pretty soon that he wasn't released for lack of evidence as he claimed...
> 
> Dumbledore _implies_ that he discovered the Room of Requirement shortly before Christmas 1994, and only as a room full of chamber pots—but he sometimes implies things which aren’t true. And really, how likely is it that he would pace back and forth three times in a random corridor wishing for a place to pee instead of just heading for the nearest bathroom? You wouldn't do that unless you knew you were right by a room that could turn into a bathroom, would you?


	11. Hidden Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What secrets lie hidden in the Room of Hidden Things? Shockingly, one of them is a a Horcrux. Now how on earth are they going to get ahold of the one Bellatrix is guarding? As if the Horcrux-hunt wasn't enough trouble, an unexpected arrival brings out a side of Lily she's horrified to discover.

The seventh-floor corridor was deserted. The map showed Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris on the second floor, and Peeves in an empty classroom on the fourth. Harry remained safely in Dumbledore’s office with a house-elf named Lissy. (Lily tried to push the memory of his distraught cries when she left out of her mind. Soon, this would be over, and she wouldn’t have to leave him with strangers ever again.)

“I still can’t believe we never found this.” Sirius looked aggrieved, as though the castle had willfully denied him his right to exploit every corner of it.

Sev’s lips tightened, probably to suppress a comment about how everyone else was lucky Sirius and his friends hadn’t found a room that would turn into whatever they wanted. But he obviously regretted not finding it too. Lily felt a grudging sympathy. It would have been a much-needed refuge. Up till third year, she would have been hiding in there with him half the time.

Dumbledore stopped in front of a tapestry depicting trolls performing ballet.

“So you just walk back and forth asking for the place Tom Riddle hid his Horcrux?” she asked doubtfully.

“Precisely. Now, if you three would stand back…”

Dumbledore paced. A door appeared in the wall.

“I don’t believe it,” Sirius said. “He really left one here?”

“As I said, he is arrogant. No doubt he thought hiding it under my very nose was an excellent joke.” Dumbledore entered, looking grim, and gestured for them to follow.

Lily stepped through and stopped, astonished. She craned her neck to look around. The room stretched so far that she couldn’t see the opposite wall, even through the gaps in the towering piles of… everything. The room was absolutely packed with _stuff_ of every description. Broken chairs, stacks of books, cracked crystal balls, lonely shoes, splintered brooms, forlorn dolls, dried-up inkpots, rusty cauldrons, dated robes—it was as if everything broken or abandoned in Hogwarts for the past thousand years had made its way here.

“Welcome to the Room of Hidden Things,” Dumbledore said. “The castle collects unwanted items on its own, but many have stumbled upon it over the years while searching for a place to find things—or dispose of them.”

The way he said it made Lily wonder whether anyone had ever tried to dump a body in this room. There had better not be any skeletons waiting to tumble out of cupboards.

“Still no Tom Riddle on the map,” Sirius said, frowning over the parchment.

“And Riddle would have assumed only the castle’s automatic function? He wouldn’t have suspected others had been here?” Sev asked, scanning the piles of junk intently.

“Even Tom Riddle could overestimate his own cleverness. He always liked to believe he was different from the common run of wizards.”

“But how will we ever find anything in here?” Lily asked. “You said you don’t have a spell to detect Horcruxes at a distance.”

“We could search for heavily-enchanted objects,” Sirius suggested. “Maybe ones with anti-Summoning protections.”

“And we should split up to cover more ground,” Sev added, eyeing the vast mounds of detritus.

Dumbledore nodded. “Both excellent ideas. Sirius, you and I can take our starting points to the right of the door, and Severus and Lily to the left.”

Lily walked quickly, Sev trailing behind her. She understood why Dumbledore wanted to keep Sev and Sirius apart, but she wasn’t sure this was any better. Sev—all three of them now, actually—sent her emotions into a stomach-churning maelstrom. At least he’d have to stop soon and begin his sweep toward the opposite wall, and she could continue on to a farther point, away from all of them.

But once she was on her own, she almost wished him back. The piles of junk loomed over her. They weren’t arranged in any order, so there were no clear paths if she needed to run. (From what, she didn’t know. One of her imaginary skeletons, woken to a mockery of life like the Inferi?) Just in case, she pulled out her broom. She could use it to get a closer look at anything high up, she told herself, so she wasn’t just being paranoid.

Her wand quivered. An object with heavy enchantments! It must be… yes, it was this painting half-covered by a ratty quilt. She levitated the quilt off.

The large gilt frame surrounded a portrait of a hideously aged man with a cruel sneer on his face and scarlet dotting his hands. It nauseated her, as if she were looking into the subject’s very soul and seeing the evil there. No way was she touching that thing. A moment’s work undid the spell preventing the painting from being levitated, and she walked on with it bobbing at her heels—facing away from her so she wouldn’t have that terrifying gaze at her back.

Fifteen minutes passed before she found another object with such heavy enchantments. (Though along the way she picked up a few rolls of blank parchment, a Sneakoscope, and a thick tome on healing magic. They didn’t belong to anyone, and they weren’t doing any good in here.) Hidden behind a collection of chipped vases was a large orrery in gold and silver, with polished gemstones for the moons and planets. The sun was a huge yellow diamond with so many facets that it looked almost like a smooth sphere. It was so beautiful that Lily’s breath caught in her throat. None of the enchantments on it seemed defensive, or offensive either. They might be intrinsic to its function, whatever that was. Just in case, she floated it along behind her too, glad to have something between herself and the portrait.

She nabbed a couple of books on magical cookery and household spells and a tiny wooden biplane that sputtered as it tried to loop and dive on the desk where it lay. Harry would like that once she fixed it. Had a Muggle-born student charmed a Muggle toy, she wondered, or did wizards know about biplanes? She snorted. They probably thought biplanes were current Muggle technology.

Dried-up potions, broken quills, more books than she could possibly sort through right now. She’d definitely have to come back. A dusty manuscript lying open to reveal awkward but charming illustrations caught her eye. Fairies fluttered across the margins, a unicorn pranced through a glade, and bowtruckles peered out from behind tree trunks. The letters were written in a careful hand. They were also bafflingly scrambled—maybe some sort of magical encryption? She conjured a box to protect the fragile pages and put it in her rucksack. Unlocking this manuscript’s secrets could be a great project once this was all over.

Lily dodged around a large trunk only to bang her shin against another. “Ouch!” She stumbled back—right into a wardrobe door. Something rattled inside. Cursing under her breath, she turned and opened the door, which had been half-eaten by some corrosive substance. Might as well take a look.

Oh God, it was—

She tripped over the chest again in her hurry to back away. Inside, in a cage, sat a five-legged skeleton.

Lily was tempted to slam the door and run, but she had to check this area. Her thoughts were so occupied trying not to imagine the creature’s last agonized days that she almost missed it: another powerfully-enchanted object.

The tarnished old tiara lay half-buried beneath a pile of socks next to the chipped bust of a warlock. She cast more detection spells. It didn’t seem to have anything that would zap her if she tried to touch it, but it couldn’t be summoned. Maybe it had a compulsion on it like the ring. Well, she wouldn’t get caught touching cursed jewelry again.

She squatted down to look closer. There was an inscription in modern English: _Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure_. That was a Ravenclaw saying if she ever heard one. But this looked like a cheap costume piece you’d wear to a fancy-dress party. This room might hold dozens of fake Ravenclaw diadems. Nothing worth enchanting.

Which made it odd. Perhaps…

Yes, there was an illusion on it. Lily frowned and rummaged through the potions case in her rucksack. She sprinkled a few drops of Thief’s Downfall over the tiara.

The tarnish faded away, leaving bright, goblin-wrought silver. The letters wavered and flowed, becoming runes.

Lily shot green sparks into the air and sent three Patronuses. “I’ve found an enchanted crown.”

#

Dumbledore lined up the Horcruxes on his desk: Slytherin’s locket, Ravenclaw’s diadem, and Tom Riddle’s diary. What hubris Tom had, to rank his own tatty little diary alongside these venerable artifacts.

“So we still need the one Bellatrix has—if that’s what she has—and maybe one more, if he’s finished the set,” she said as she checked on Harry. He’d fallen asleep, thank goodness.

“Should we break into her house?” Sirius asked. “I can’t say I’d be sorry if thieves trashed the place and stole all her valuables.”

“That depends on whether she’d be confident enough in her household protections to keep it there,” Sev countered. “And whether the Dark Lord had designated another hiding place for it, as he did with the cave.”

“Too bad she isn’t a Muggle,” Lily said. “Then we could just check her house and her safe deposit box and be done with it. No, that isn’t fair,” she corrected. Where had that come from? She knew better. Did her friends really say things like that so often that she’d started imitating them? “They can bury things in the woods as well as anyone.”

But Dumbledore’s eyes gleamed. “Or her Gringotts vault, perhaps?”

“You really think she’d just take it to the bank?”

“They say Gringotts is impossible to break into,” Sirius said.

“I wouldn’t cross the goblins if I had a choice,” Sev agreed.

“I’ve always rather fancied the idea of testing myself against the defenses at Gringotts,” Dumbledore said. “I suppose I ought to search her home first, of course, in case she is more careless with her lord’s possessions that he might hope.”

“All right, which morning this week do we all have free?” Sirius asked.

“No, I shall attempt this one alone,” Dumbledore said.

“But Professor, we’ve all proved ourselves as cursebreakers!”

“I have complete faith in your abilities. However, I have done the goblins a favor or two in the past and have enough political standing with the Ministry to talk my way out of trouble if necessary. You three have no such protection.”

Lily felt she ought to argue, but secretly, she was relieved that she wouldn’t be facing death again this week. And it seemed only fair that Dumbedore take a turn at risking his life.

Sirius kicked his feet against the chair legs. “I still think you ought to have backup.” He yawned and looked at the map. “McGonagall is _still_ in her office. Does she ever sleep?”

Lily furrowed her brow. She’d never really thought about it, but… “Well, she teaches seven years’ worth of students, heads Gryffindor House, _and_ does a lot of the admin work. The teaching alone must be a crushing workload, even with seventh-years helping with the marking.”

“You don’t say,” Sev muttered.

“Why doesn’t she have a junior Transfiguration professor to share the work?” Lily asked.

Dumbledore never got a chance to answer, because Sirius sat bolt upright and shouted, “That bastard! Has he been here the whole time?” He grabbed his broom and sped out the window.

He’d left the map behind. They leaned over it. Sev spotted it first and hissed: on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, near Hagrid’s hut, sat a dot labeled Peter Pettigrew.

It suddenly darted to the left before stopping short, then raced toward the castle. Dumbledore hurriedly conjured a cloth to throw over the Horcruxes.

Wait. If Sirius brought him here… Lily looked toward the cot in a panic. “Harry—”

Dumbledore nodded. “Lissy?”

The tiny elf appeared, and at Dumbledore’s request, she and the cot and the sleeping Harry disappeared, presumably off to the kitchens or somewhere else safe.

Not a moment too soon. Sirius flew in the window with a tiny cage holding a large gray rat. “Look who I found.” He set the cage on his chair. “Petrificus Totalis!” The rat went rigid. Sirius Vanished the cage, then pointed his wand at the rat. For a moment, Lily thought Sirius was going to kill him—but Peter appeared in a blue-and-white flash. “Expelliarmus! Incarcerous!” Thin cords tied Peter to the chair. He released Peter from his Petrification. “Hello, Wormy. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Peter twitched. His pale, watery eyes darted between the four people surrounding him. “S-S-Sirius, it’s not like you think—”

“Save it, Wormy,” Lily snapped. His ratty little face sickened her. How could she not have seen it earlier? The way he fawned over James and Sirius—they were all fools to have bought that act. And Harry had very nearly died because of it. “I always thought that was a stupid nickname. Now I understand. It’s perfect for a rat like you.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Oh, yes you did.” Sirius kept his wand trained on Peter. “How long were you passing information to Voldemort? A year? Two?”

“I never meant for it to happen like this!”

“What did you intend, pray tell?” Dumbledore’s voice was icy.

“Y-Y-You have to understand, he’s taking over everywhere! He’s too p-p-powerful! I had to cooperate! What would you have done?”

“I WOULD HAVE DIED! I would’ve died rather than betray my friends!” Sirius shouted.

“You think he would have killed me quickly? He could see in my mind that I had a secret. The things he would have done if I didn’t talk—you didn’t see what he did to Dorcas Meadowes!”

Lily didn’t want to imagine it. She pulled James’s wand out of her sleeve. Peter flinched.

“Nice try, but tell me, how did he catch up to Dorcas, Wormy? Did you betray her too? Edgar? Gideon and Fabian? What about Marlene?” She’d thought he’d been down about the McKinnons’ deaths the last time he visited, and really he’d just been worried they’d realize it was his fault. Marlene had been a third-year when Lily started school, and was one of the only people who made an effort to welcome her and didn’t laugh when she said she’d never heard of Stubby Boardman and the Hobgoblins. Now she was dead. Because of Peter.

“I was trying to protect you! I thought if I gave him the others, he might not suspect I was holding anything else back.”

“You _bastard_ ,” Sirius hissed.

“You should be grateful! I tried to protect you, and all you and James ever did was treat me like a stupid sidekick. But I fooled you all, didn’t I? Who’s stupid now?”

The veins in Lily’s temples throbbed. He’d smiled and laughed and eaten their food, and all the time, he was planning to betray them. All those people, dead. And all those endless months trapped in the house. The ever-more-frequent quarrels between her and James as the anxiety and isolation got to them. Harry never getting to play with other children. The agonizing moments when she was sure that she and Harry were going to die. All the running and fear and the whole nightmare of lies and betrayal her life had become—it was all his fault.

She jabbed the wand under Peter’s chin. “You recognize this, don’t you? Of course you do. How fitting would it be if I got revenge on you with James’s wand?”

“L-L-L-Lily, p-p-p-please…”

“The last thing James did was sacrifice himself so Harry and I could escape. Even if that’s the only good thing he did in his entire life, that makes him ten times the man you are.”

He whimpered.

“You think were afraid of You-Know-Who? You should have been afraid of _me_.”

She could burn his nose and ears off. She could slice him open and show him his entrails. She could—

“Lily. Lily, don’t!” A hand gripped her arm.

“Let go!” she snapped. She could freeze his toes and shatter them. She could—

“Lily, don’t become a murderer on his account!”

Why not? If anyone deserved it, he did.

“He’s not worth it, Lily! Don’t let Harry lose his mother too!”

Harry. He’d be crying if he were here. He hated shouting. He wanted to smile and play and be loved.

She lowered the wand.

Lily turned and found that Sev was the person holding her arm. _He’d_ stopped her from killing Peter? And Sirius and Dumbledore hadn’t?

“What are we going to do with him?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“We’re going to turn him over to Alastor Moody,” Dumbledore said. “He will know how to handle this prisoner.”

Without giving too much away to the Ministry, he must mean.

“If he gets the Dementor’s Kiss,” Sirius said, “I want to watch.”

“No, please don’t, please don’t let them—"

Sirius shut him up with a Silencing Charm.

Dumbledore sent a Patronus out the window. “I expect he’ll be here shortly. Lily, let me get you some cocoa.” He snapped his fingers and a large mug appeared on his desk. “Drink up.”

“Yes, sir.” She half-fell into her chair. Her legs were weak, her face was hot, her hands were chilled, and she was shaking badly. She took a sip of cocoa and felt soothing warmth spread through her. Yes, that was better. Ignore everything else. Deep breaths. She had to calm down so she didn’t—do something. Maybe focusing on the bigger picture would help. Alive, Peter might be able to tell them something about You-Know-Who’s plans or weaknesses.

It felt like an age before she heard Moody’s heavy tread on the stairs. “So, you’ve run him down at last? Good job, lad,” he told Sirius. “You’ll get an Order of Merlin for this if I have anything to say about it. Lily, good to see you safe and well.” She managed a weak smile.

“There are a few things you ought to know about your prisoner,” Dumbledore said. He gave a highly edited account of Peter’s Animagus abilities and the Marauders’ Map that gave him away. “And, of course, we wouldn’t want anyone targeting one of my staff for retribution just because he happened to be in my office at the wrong time…”

“Understood.”

Lily decided she didn’t want to know what Moody might do in addition to a Tongue-Tying Curse to make Peter keep the Order’s secrets.

“My colleagues are waiting on the stairs. He won’t get away from us, never you worry.” He grinned, not at all in a friendly way, then flicked his wand. The chair rose into the air with Peter still tied to it. He flicked his wand again and a mesh cage surrounded the chair. “I’ll send the chair back as soon as we get him in a cell.”

Dumbledore waved dismissively. “Never mind about the chair. Just take care of him.”

“Oh, I will.”

It felt like a choking fog cleared from the room as soon as the door closed behind them. Lily slumped in her chair, exhaling loudly.

Dumbledore looked at her sympathetically. “We should all get to bed.”

“I can stay,” Sirius said. “We still have to figure out how to destroy these things.”

“And so we shall—but not tonight. I have a heist to plan, in case you’ve forgotten.”

#

Harry was awake when Lissy reappeared in the office with him. “Mama!” He wrapped himself around her leg. When they got back to the safe house, he wanted to play. She didn’t have the heart to refuse, never mind what hour it was.

“Harry, Mummy found you a toy plane. Here, let me fix it. Watch how it flies!” His delighted giggles did her even more good than the cocoa. Soon the plane and the stuffed lion were friends having an adventure flying over a land of color-changing blocks.

He soon grew sleepy, but resisted going to bed. “No bed!” he insisted through yawns.

“What if Mummy tells you a story? Come here.” He pouted, but toddled over and curled up in her lap.

“Once upon a time…” She hadn’t meant to start with the traditional Muggle story opening. But it was part of his heritage, after all. He ought to know it. “Once upon a time, there was a girl named Dorothy who lived in a place called Kansas. She lived on a farm with her aunt and uncle and lots of chickens, and she had a little dog named Toto. But then one day a tornado carried her whole house away. The house flew and flew until it landed in a place called Oz, which was full of magic. Dorothy stepped out of the house and the people who lived there, the Munchkins, told her she was a hero. Her house had landed right on the Wicked Witch of the East and stopped her from hurting people ever again! Then Glinda the Good Witch came and asked Dorothy, are you a good witch or a bad witch?”

She stopped, her throat dry. The words echoed in her head in Petunia’s voice.

Harry had fallen asleep. She carried him to his cot and gently laid him down.

_Are you a good witch or a bad witch?_

She’d wanted to murder Peter tonight—wanted to torture him to death. She couldn’t blame Peter or even You-Know-Who for everything wrong in the world when she had such vicious impulses buried within her.

Was Sev right that the Patronus Charm and the water-sending and probably the Inferius-disanimating spell were Dark magic, but wrong about what that meant? Was it evil magic after all, and she’d been corrupted? But what did that mean for the Order, as often as they used Patronuses? Patronuses couldn’t be evil. They felt _good_. Safe. On the other hand, look how many people she thought she knew were liars who put innocent lives at risk for the worst reasons. What made them that way?

The Dark Arts primer must have a clue she’d overlooked, buried under the vile politics. She frantically leafed through it, her fingertips feeling polluted where they touched the pages.

Here, this looked promising:

> In some instances, the magic channeled is so chaotic that it affects the casting wizard’s mind. Heavy use of such spells over the course of many years can slowly increase the caster’s paranoia and make his emotions more volatile. This is often the fate of highly sensitive Mediums and Seers. Evidence also suggests that the worst effects are seen in those who use certain techniques to channel magic far more powerful than their inherent talents would allow. The temptation of power draws many unscrupulous wizards to our ways, and their choices have most unfairly tarnished the reputation of a perfectly respectable—if occasionally risky—field of study. Ordinary Dark magic such as the minor curses and boggart-banishings conducted by any capable wizard have never yet been known to cause harm. Even a talented and long-lived Dark wizard will rarely suffer any noticeable effects from minor to moderate Dark spells no matter how many he might cast.

Paranoia. Volatility. Temptation. All too familiar, and it fit with Adalbert Waffling’s caution not to tamper with the “deepest mysteries” unless you were prepared for dangerous consequences. Mortificus Rogue could be downplaying the effects, too. But how could she tell what was magically induced and what was a natural reaction to everything she’d been through? Was it paranoia if you really were surrounded by traitors and being hunted by a mass murderer?

Either way, it was foolish to thinks she could blame a handful of spells for all the cruelty and betrayal wizards committed. That must have been inside them all along, and she was only now realizing it. And killing You-Know-Who, while necessary, wouldn’t fix everything.

_Are you a good witch or a bad witch?_

“I need a code,” she said to herself. A list of principles which if she ever violated, she’d know something was wrong with her. “No channeling more magic than my natural capacity,” maybe? If she could figure out what her capacity even was. “No torture,” definitely, and, “No killing people in a vengeful fury if they can be turned over to the authorities.”

Though the authorities used the Cruciatus Curse these days. And what could you call the dementors but walking torture implements? If your side had better principles but ignored them half the time and committed nearly as many atrocities as the criminals, where did that leave you?

Damn it, she had to focus. She _wanted_ to be a good witch.

Just as soon as she modified that shotgun so she could assassinate You-Know-Who. That, at least, she could justify. He’d keep killing forever if no one took him out, and no prison could hold him. Plus, it would be in combat. That was different from killing an unarmed prisoner.

Maybe it wouldn’t even kill him anyway. There was that damned prophecy. She hadn’t been “born to those who had thrice defied him,” and not in July or September either. Was the “one with the power” someone who could destroy the Horcruxes? But Sev had destroyed one already without this prophecy-person’s help. And Aberforth had said something about getting tangled in prophecies. Wasn’t that what happened to Macbeth and to Oedipus’s parents? It was probably best to ignore it. Let it come true in its own way if it had to.

She hiccoughed. She was _not_ going to break down. There was work to do.

The shotgun shells could be taken apart and the shot melted down into solid slugs. That should minimize collateral damage. She could probably use magic to make the molds, but no magic should touch the slugs themselves. Now to figure out how to create those molds…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lily was supposedly popular, but maybe not right away. When she started Hogwarts, she was closer to Sev, which would put her in the Marauders’ sights; she was Muggle-born; she had second-hand books and robes in my fanon; and she might have had a less-prestigious accent. Slughorn might not have “discovered” her right away, either; it’s hard to look brilliant while learning the basics, especially when the teacher is inclined to overlook you. (Years later, he’s still surprised that a Muggle-born had such talent.) Once he did, some might have reacted with jealousy rather than acceptance. So little firstie Lily might have wanted to hide out in a secret clubhouse with Sev if they’d had one.
> 
> A thousand-year-old diadem should not bear an inscription in modern English, yet Harry clearly saw that it did after he pulled the damaged diadem out of the flames. Magic must be responsible.
> 
> I first encountered the idea of “Dark Arts-related dementia” in [a Red Hen essay](http://www.redhen-publications.com/historyofmagic.html). I’m going with the idea that it’s a risk, but usually a small one: you have to really overdo it in specific ways over a long period of time.


	12. Shoot to Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have Helga's cup, but there's no time to celebrate. Voldemort had an agent in Auror Headquarters, and Peter has escaped. How much does he know? When Sev is summoned, Lily realizes that they're out of time. To keep their spy and the secret of the Horcrux-hunt safe, she'll have to take on Voldemort. Now.

Lily worked feverishly on the shotgun for the next two days. Every moment she wasn’t caring for Harry, she was reading, melting, shaping. The slugs had to fit in the barrel correctly and shoot straight without having any magic on them. At last she thought she’d got it right—just in time. Dumbledore brochure-messaged that they would meet again that night. She put the gun and the slugs in her rucksack. So far, she had only practiced firing it at garden wall a few times, getting used to the feel of it. Trust Vernon to pick a shotgun with a nasty kick.

In Dumbledore’s office, the Horcruxes were lined up once more on the desk, with one addition: a gleaming golden cup.

“Helga Hufflepuff’s cup? Bellatrix had it?”

“Indeed she did.”

“There were no difficulties?” Sev asked.

“I was more than equal to the challenge. Alas, the story will have to wait for another day.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses. “Ah, and I regret to inform you all that Bellatrix Lestrange has been arrested. It seems she cursed a dozen goblins after claiming something had gone missing from her vault. No one can verify this wild accusation, of course.”

And how had he arranged for Bellatrix to discover her loss so quickly? Lily decided that that, too, was probably a question best saved for another day.

Sirius grinned. “I’m devastated.” He returned to trying to induce Harry to smile at him by making silly faces, but Harry wasn’t taking the bait and looked at Sirius warily. Probably wondering if everyone was going to start shouting again.

“Don’t take it personally,” she told Sirius. “He’s been anxious lately.”

They all settled into their chairs, Harry clinging to his stuffed lion.

“Now, as to the purpose of this meeting,” Dumbledore began. “We may be one Horcrux short, but while we pursue that possibility, we need to seriously begin researching a way to remove the pieces of Voldemort’s soul from these objects without destroying priceless historical artifacts. I have tried several variations of Lily’s Inferius-disanimating spell to no effect.”

“I told you,” Sirius said, “let me take them to Azkaban and I’ll sort it out by tea time.”

“We may have to consider that idea,” Dumbledore said. “I have several books referencing Horcruxes which I removed from the Hogwarts library decades ago, but none of them offer any suggestions. Lily, have you found any other avenues to pursue?”

“Not yet,” she said. “But I think I’ve got our Dark Lord-weakening gun ready. If we can destroy his body, that will give us more time to figure out how to… de-Horcruxify these things… without worrying what You-Know-Who is doing in the meantime.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Very good. Severus?”

“I haven’t had any luck yet either.” His face was pinched and wan. The students must have returned by now; maybe he’d been up late killing roosters and painting threats on the walls in blood. Or were they still just spreading rumors? “I’m supposed to visit Lucius this weekend, though. I can peruse his family library.”

That gave Lily another idea, though she didn’t know how Sirius would react. “Sirius, do you think you can check your family’s library too? I hate to ask, but if Regulus figured it out…”

He grimaced. “My brother was always reading the creepiest books in the house when we were kids. If the Malfoy library doesn’t help, I’ll see what I can do.”

Considering how rough his last trip home obviously had been, it must hurt to make even that indefinite promise. And who knew what conditions Mrs. Black might impose if she did allow Sirius in to do research. But this was a war. They could hardly expect it to be easy or pleasant. They’d face that problem when it arose.

Dumbledore wiped his glasses. He looked exhausted. “Now that we have plotted our next step,” he said, “we—”

Moody’s Patronus shot through the window. “Problem, Albus. You-Know-Who had an agent in Auror Headquarters. He helped Pettigrew escape. He’s got an hour’s head start on us.”

Oh, no. How much did Peter know? He’d seen her. He knew Sev had seen her and hadn’t tried to kill her or Harry. Had the Horcruxes still been in view when Sirius flew him in the window? She couldn’t remember.

Sev started as if in pain. “Headmaster…” He clutched his left forearm.

Dumbledore stilled. “Are you prepared?”

“Yes.” Even his lips were pale. “If I can turn it around to make it seem I have unmasked Pettigrew as a traitor, the Dark Lord may trust me with more information in the future.”

Dumbledore barely hesitated. “Go,” he said. “Message us with the location if you can.”

Wait, was Dumbledore thinking they might need to rescue Sev? Or no—that they could shoot You-Know-Who now? Lily’s heart raced. She wasn’t ready! Except, hadn’t she just said that she was? And if they _could_ manage it…

Sev looked at Lily for the briefest moment, then turned and slipped out the door in a whirl of black cloak.

Sirius looked back and forth between them. “Wait. Voldemort might give him information? Is he being summoned? You mean HE’S BEEN A DEATH EATER ALL ALONG?” He looked ready to launch out of his chair after Sev and bring him down.

“He is our ‘man on the inside,’ as you might say.”

Sirius gaped at Dumbledore. “You let a Death Eater into the school.” He whirled to face Lily. “And you knew? How could you work with him?”

“They have Peter. We have Sev,” she said shortly. “We don’t have time for this, Sirius. If he’s able to send his location, I can shoot You-Know-Who right now.” She was just as frightened as a moment ago, but clarity had joined the fear. There would never be a perfect time to shoot You-Know-Who with minimal danger. She would never feel ready. And who knew how often they would be able to find him? They had to take every opportunity.

“He probably expects you to do that and it’s a trap!”

She hugged Harry tightly. “I know. But we may never get a better chance.” She could stop him from killing anyone ever again. She could spare the students from the fake basilisk attacks which would create real terror. She could even make sure Mrs. Black didn’t get another chance to yell at Sirius.

Waiting wasn’t an option.

The brochure warmed in her pocket. She shifted a protesting Harry and yanked it out with a trembling hand.

_Visit Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire nightmare!_

“Right, I’m going. Call a house-elf for Harry.” She stared them down, daring them to try and stop her.

Dumbledore didn't try. “Lissy.”

The elf appeared. Lily handed Harry over, trying not to change her mind when he whimpered and reached for her. You-Know-Who would never stop trying to kill her baby. She had to do this so he could live. She stared at him, trying to fix every detail in her memory, and kept staring at the empty space when Harry and Lissy disappeared.

“You can’t possibly let her do this,” Sirius said. “It’s suicide.”

“I’m afraid that I can’t fault her reasoning. We may never have a better chance.”

“Then let me go too!”

“No!” That jolted her from her reverie. She hastened to explain over Sirius’s offended reply. “You’re Harry’s godfather. You have to take care of him if I…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Or look at his face when he stopped protesting.

Lily fastened the invisibility cloak around her shoulders and kicked off with her broom before she could think too much about what she was doing. She ducked to slide through the window and raced across the grounds. Almost over the wall—

She spun on her broom and focused on the night she and Alice had flown to help an Order member in trouble and got ambushed by Death Eaters. _There’s Malfoy Manor to the left_ , Alice had said, pointing at a house and gardens in the distance with fields and low hills beyond.

Freezing wind blasted her face when she arrived. It was colder than any January night she could remember, and it was snowing. She gritted her teeth and aimed for the long hedge just visible under the light of the nearly-full moon.

What protective enchantments did the Malfoys have around their land? She pulled out the legacy wand—it felt right for this mission—and silently cast every spell she knew that might cancel or unravel them. With luck, they would only have cast thorough protections around the house and gardens, and skimped a bit on the rest of the vast estate.

She flew over the hedge without a hitch and kept low to the ground. No lights or sounds appeared to warn anyone of her presence, though she couldn’t be sure there wasn’t an alarm going off in the house. No help for it. There was no one near the house, so she sped on across the fields. A little higher so she could see over this knoll—

A circle of black-robed figures was gathered before a folly, stark against the snowy landscape. Oh, no. This wasn’t a private meeting between You-Know-Who, Sev, and Peter. There had to be fifty or sixty Death Eaters present. But calling for backup would destroy her only advantage: that they didn’t know anyone else was here.

Lily touched down on the knoll overlooking the folly. Instantly, she sank to her shins in freezing, wet snow.

The folly was a ridiculous cross between Stonehenge and a Roman temple—typical Malfoy pretentiousness—but in this context, it looked sinister. The Death Eaters couldn’t be more than thirty yards from her, but they probably couldn’t see her footprints. Probably. She cast a Supersensory Charm on herself, and suddenly the figures were as clear as if she were standing just outside the circle.

None of the Death Eaters fidgeted or whispered amongst themselves. They stood frozen, staring at the man with the corpse-white face in the center of the circle.

Voldemort.

Two hooded figures knelt before him.

“We have a traitor in our ranks,” said the high, cold voice she heard in her nightmares. “Wormtail claims one of my servants has turned his cloak out of love for a Mudblood. That servant claims Wormtail fancies himself clever enough to fool me into destroying his rival. Which of them is telling the truth?”

No one wagered a guess. They obviously didn’t dare.

“Perhaps they are both lying. That would be unwise of them.” He stroked his wand lazily. “Do either of you care to defend yourselves?”

“You know I have only sought to serve you, my lord.” Peter was the most _disgusting_ groveler. “I escaped from Ministry custody so I could warn you of his treachery.”

She had perfect line-of-sight over the closest Death Eater’s hood. As quietly as she could, Lily dropped to one knee and pulled the shotgun out of her rucksack.

“You escaped to save yourself,” You-Know-Who said. “Or perhaps you are their spy, sent to lure me into a trap.”

“My lord—”

“Silence!” You-Know-Who turned to Sev. “And you? Still pining for your little Mudblood?”

“I only ever wanted revenge on Potter. She is nothing to me.”

It shouldn’t hurt, because it couldn’t be true. They’d been best friends for years before James entered the picture. And anyway, there was no reason she should care how Sev felt about her. So why did it feel like a Slicing Hex to the gut?

_He did betray me. Harry nearly died because of it. No one could blame me if I were too late to save him._

Bile rose in her throat. What kind of person had she become to even think of that?

Ever so carefully, she pulled out two slugs. Her fingers were so cold that she fumbled to get them into the barrel. One knocked against the other with a sharp _clink!_

Lily froze. No one seemed to have noticed, so as soon as she could breathe again, she resumed. Quiet, quiet, quiet…

“Pretty tales, both of you. How fortunate for me that I can see into the hearts and minds of my followers.”

Peter had confirmed You-Know-Who could read minds. _But not Sev’s_ , she thought desperately. _He must have fooled You-Know-Who before—_

—unless this had all been a deep-laid plan, like Sirius believed. But no, Sev had helped find the Horcruxes. You-Know-Who never would have allowed that, no matter what the payoff.

She lifted the barrel through the front of the cloak, stomach in knots. Was this what it had been like for her grandfather during the war? She couldn’t imagine doing this over and over. She wasn’t sure she could imagine doing it once.

“Look into my eyes and swear you have never betrayed me.”

She couldn’t delay. Sev was about to meet his master’s eyes. You-Know-Who would see everything. It had to be now.

Lily pointed the gun at You-Know-Who’s chest, praying her targeting charms worked. She exhaled and fired both barrels.

You-Know-Who staggered, but didn’t fall. He looked straight ahead—he must have guessed the direction of the attack. He raised his wand. “Avada—Kedavra!”

The world turned green.

#

She looked down on the scene from slightly above, as if she were still kneeling on the hill. She could even feel the snow under her knee.

You-Know-Who crumpled to the ground, his blood staining the snow.

Sev leapt into action. “Wormtail brought the Ministry to our door! Flee for your lives!”

Most of the Death Eaters immediately spun on their heels and vanished in a series of loud pops. Peter looked frozen. “I didn’t—I never—how could—”

“Traitor!” Sev shouted. He pulled something from his pocket that glittered in the moonlight and lunged for Peter. The smaller man was too slow, and Sev got him in a headlock. He forced the vial to Peter’s mouth. “You’ll never betray the Dark Lord’s secrets again!”

Peter choked and shuddered, then fell before his master.

One of the remaining Death Eaters approached. “If you need assistance—”

“Keep your hands clean, Lucius. I’ll handle the bodies.”

The hooded figure gestured to his remaining fellows and they all Apparated away.

Sev did likewise and reappeared a few yards away, casting _Homenum Revelio_. “Lily? Lily! Please say something! Oh God, Lily!”

He flailed around wildly, gasping. His fingers caught the cloak and he tugged at it desperately.

 _It’s no good_ , she wanted to say, _it’s too late for me, I must be a ghost, hope you’re happy now, oh God how is Sirius going to manage with Harry—_

He flung his arms around her. “You’re alive!”

She could feel his arms. They were solid. _She_ was solid. It wasn’t possible.

He backed off quickly. “Sorry. I’m just—grateful that he missed.”

Her mouth started working again. “He didn’t miss.”

“What?”

“He didn’t miss. I don’t understand—”

He stared. “That’s—never mind, we’ve got to get out of here. I’ve given Pettigrew enough Draught of Living Death to keep him out for days.” He helped her shove the gun back into her rucksack and put her broom in her stiff fingers, then grabbed her by the elbow and spun.

They appeared next to Peter’s still form. “We’ve got to get back to Hogwarts. The east forest gate. Can you manage, or should I Side-Along you again?”

It would be tricky with her and Peter together, and if he made two trips, they might lose Peter. “I can manage,” she whispered. “Should I bring… the body… with me?”

Sev nodded. “We might need it.”

Goosebumps prickled on her arms. Seeing the waxen corpse so close chilled her more deeply than any snow. This was the husk of the monster who had killed so many people. Lily clutched its robes, unwilling to let that cold flesh touch her, and focused on her destination.

The familiar Hogwarts boundary wall popped into view, the trees of the Forbidden Forest looming behind. She immediately let go of the thing’s robes.

Dumbledore and Sirius were waiting to usher them through the gate that led to a wild corner of the grounds at the edge of the Forest, where a snowy mound blocked the distant castle from view. Lily wasn’t sure whether to feel protected or trapped.

“What happened? Is that—is Wormy dead?”

“Draught of Living Death,” Sev said. “Lily did it. She killed the Dark Lord’s body.”

Lily levitated the corpse closer.

“Eurgh!” Sirius exclaimed. “That’s… he’s really… you mean your daft plan _worked?_ ”

“Thanks for your confidence,” she snapped. Maybe she was going to be all right.

Dumbledore looked at her intently, but made no comment. He raised his wand. “I’ll tell Alastor we’ve recovered his prisoner.” His phoenix Patronus raced off into the darkness.

The sick feeling in her stomach was fading. She’d done it. She’d destroyed You-Know-Who’s body, and now they just had to deal with a few inert objects and he’d be gone forever. Even if there was one more out there somewhere, he’d probably hidden it in a significant location like the others. They would find it soon enough, and then the nightmare would be over. Finally.

“I hate to ruin the celebration,” Sirius said, looking over her shoulder to the comatose Peter, “But I don’t think that’s supposed to happen.”

She turned. Peter had raised himself onto his elbow.

“I thought you said you gave him enough to keep him out for days!”

“I did!”

“I don’t believe that is Peter Pettigrew,” Dumbledore said.

Peter opened his eyes. They flashed red. “Traitor,” he hissed at Sev.

Moody popped into being just outside the gate. “Albus, I—”

“No time, Alastor. Peter has been possessed by Voldemort. Incarcerous!”

Moody took one look at those eyes and grabbed a mirror out of his mokeskin pouch. “Forbidden Forest Apparition point. Send every Auror and Hit Wizard we’ve got!” He then shot off a Patronus. That would be for Alice and Frank, telling them to rally the Order too.

The ropes binding Peter dissolved and he touched his left forearm.

It was obscene. That was Peter’s face. Even after everything he’d done, she couldn’t help wanting to rescue him. No one deserved to be possessed like that.

“Lily, your cloak!” Sev said. “Hide!” He Disillusioned himself. The others quickly followed his example, Dumbledore after hiding the corpse. Lily pulled her hood up. She climbed onto her broom and glided to the left, away from where the possessed Peter had last seen her.

Cracks and pops filled the air as dark-hooded figures, Aurors, and Order members arrived all at once. Lily kicked off and circled around over the wall. If she could manage it all nonverbally, she could rain invisible attacks down on the Death Eaters’ heads.

Streaks of light flew between the figures below. A few appeared out of thin air—cast by her Disillusioned confederates. They wouldn’t get away with this for long.

She stunned three Death Eaters in quick succession. The others would have to either abandon them or leave themselves open to attack while trying to revive them. What would disable them longer? What had she used in the past, before all those months in hiding?

She aimed at a Death Eater’s wand hand and cast a silent _Incendio_. He screamed and dropped his burning wand.

Another. Another. Another. She zigged and zagged, dodging the spells her enemies flung at their invisible attacker. Several on her side had fallen, but so had several Death Eaters. At least, she thought so. All the cloaked figures looked so similar from this angle.

More Ministry people appeared, along with—

“You fools!” Moody’s voice echoed. “Who brought the dementors?”

Damn it. The dementors wouldn’t care which side anyone was on; they’d suck any soul they could get.

On the other hand… _Let me take them to Azkaban and I’ll have it sorted by tea time_ , Sirius had said. It was their best idea yet. Had Dumbledore removed the enchantments that kept the Horcruxes from being summoned?

Lily sped toward the castle, hoping the aging school broom would be fast enough. The freezing wind made her eyes water so hard that she almost missed the window to Dumbledore’s office. She gasped with relief when the window opened to her first spell.

“Accio V-v-voldemort’s Horcruxes!”

They flew right into her open rucksack. Lily circled back, the rucksack’s straps wrapped around one arm. If only she had James’s racing broom!

She spotted a dementor heading for a wizard—Auror, Death Eater, Order, she couldn’t tell—as she skimmed over the mound. She blasted it with a Patronus. If she could herd it away from the main group…

There. She swooped closer and tossed the diary in its direction.

The dementors might be blind, but this one could catch a bit of soul when it passed its way. The dementor paused, as if contemplating the diary. It raised the diary to its lips. A tiny silver wisp disappeared beneath its hood.

 _Yes!_ She tossed the diadem. It ate that too. Then the locket. It worked! Now she just needed to throw it the cup and—

But the flying objects must have attracted attention. She barely dodged a blazing curse, then a frightening purple spell. An invisible force shoved her hard and she went tumbling off her broom, the rucksack falling who knew where.

_Float float float like at the park—_

The snow was like cold, fiery needles, but it softened her landing further. Had anyone seen where she fell? She tugged the invisibility cloak more securely around her.

She’d landed a few yards inside the forest. There was her rucksack; she scrambled to grab it. One Death Eater was off to her right, facing away from her. In front of her—

—was the possessed Peter, crawling away. _Oh no you don’t_ , she thought, raising her wand. _Petrificus Totalis!_

Sev, now visible and covered in scorch marks, dashed up beside her, stumbling and catching a tree to keep from falling.

When he saw Peter, his expression turned hard. He swayed, then raised his wand with effort. His hand shook for a long moment. Then he hissed, “Sectumsempra!”

Peter’s throat opened and gushed blood. He gurgled and choked, then went silent.

He’d killed Peter. Even if that hatred had been for You-Know-Who, it was still Peter’s body, and Peter had been defenseless.

“No… no!” Sev cried behind her.

Lily turned and saw him twisting and struggling as if fighting an invisible enemy. His eyes flashed red, then black again. _Oh no._

She had to separate them. Maybe her Inferius-disanimating spell? Dumbledore said it didn’t work on the Horcruxes, though, so maybe it didn’t work on souls at all—but maybe if she incorporated a Banishing Charm—if she combined the movements just so…

There was a simpler way. She could kill him with James’s wand and his own spell. It would be poetic justice.

A deeper chill enveloped her. Looking over her shoulder confirmed her dread: a dementor was gliding up behind her. She shoved her hand into her rucksack and scrabbled for the cup. That might distract it until she could deal with Sev.

She turned and heaved the cup directly at the dementor. Her hood slipped back, but there was no time to fix it. Sev writhed on the ground, one moment struggling, the next quiet, then struggling again. He was growing weaker.

Lily raised her wand—then stopped. Peter’s lifeless body stared at her accusingly. _How could you_ , he seemed to say. _You’re supposed to be better than that_.

The disanimating spell might drive Sev’s soul out of his body along with You-Know-Who. Sectumsempra couldn’t be a worse way to die than that, and it was guaranteed to work. And if You-Know-Who had another Horcrux out there somewhere, she might drive him out only for him to re-possess Sev anyway. If that happened, there might not be time to kill him before the dementor was upon them.

The cold grew behind her. There was no more time to weigh the risks. She had to choose.

Sev’s eyes opened. They burned red until he saw her face. Then their familiar dark color and his anguished expression returned. “Do it!” he croaked.

He was helpless on the ground. Lily focused with all her might. “Requiescat in Pace!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lily and Alice defied Voldemort’s followers when they escaped the ambush, and if you defy his followers, you defy him. Turning down his offer to join him makes two. Only one to go! Unless joining the Order counts as a separate defiance, in which case, they’re set.
> 
> Of course Severus keeps Draught of Living Death in his pocket. Always be prepared!
> 
> I’m using Whitehound’s [map of the Hogwarts grounds](http://cj_whitehound.madasafish.com/Fanfic/map_of_Hogwarts/grounds.htm#map). She doesn’t have an “east forest gate,” but there _could_ be one up in that corner where the Forest and the little hill meet the wall. There ought to be a back entrance or two somewhere. The Dementors guarded “all” the entrances in PoA, so there must be more than just the main gates and the lake tunnel. Otherwise they would have guarded “both.”


	13. Now We See Face to Face?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort is dead. The Hospital Wing is packed. Sirius and Severus are both unconscious, and no one knows whether Severus will wake. Dumbledore and Moody have questions. And Lily can't stop wondering: did she make the right choice?

Nearly every bed in the main ward of the Hospital Wing was full. St. Mungo’s had sent three Healers to help. Most of the patients had burns or gashes or broken bones, and many had suffered more unusual curses: hands turned to boneless flesh, knees reversed, skin flayed in long strips. Three Aurors had died, including Frank Longbottom. A fourth had been Kissed. Moody had lost two fingers and an eye, and he would have a lot more scars once his wounds healed. Sirius drifted in and out of consciousness while the Healers argued about the proper sequencing of the ten potions he needed.

Dumbledore limped back and forth across the ward, conjuring water glasses and damp cloths for the afflicted, handing out sweets with a twinkle whenever the Healers thought it wouldn’t interfere with a patient’s treatment. He looked every inch the wise and caring leader refusing treatment until his people were cared for.

Four injured Death Eaters lay in another room under heavy guard. Most had Apparated away as soon as one of them had shouted, “It’s gone! It’s gone!” They’d taken many of their injured and dead with them, leaving only those trapped too far inside the gate to escape. Whether they’d fled out of terror or joy or both, no one knew. But if the Dark Mark truly had gone, then so had their master. Dumbledore had assured Lily that he and Madam Pomfrey had found no trace of magic on Sev’s arm.

Lily sat between Sirius and Sev, cradling Harry and sipping cocoa whenever Dumbledore or Madam Pomfrey reminded her. It was over. You-Know-Who was dead, his body in Ministry custody. No students would be Petrified. No one would try to kill Harry again. They were safe.

It didn’t feel real.

Sev was still unconscious and corpse-pale. He breathed, but they wouldn’t know until he woke whether his soul remained in his body or whether he would be like the victims of the Dementor’s Kiss, alive but empty. Lily’s thoughts circled around and around the question that crowded all other thoughts out of her mind: had she done the right thing? She had a sickening feeling that she might never know. Even if he recovered, maybe that just means she’d got lucky, and she still _ought_ to have made the safer, surer choice instead of trying to save him and destroy You-Know-Who both.

Sev’s eyelids fluttered. Slowly, very slowly, they opened. His eyes tracked across the ceiling. His lips moved. “Why… does Hell… look like… the Hospital Wing?”

Lily made a choking noise between a laugh and a sob. “You’re in the Hospital Wing, dunderhead.”

Gingerly, he turned his head toward her. “Lily? I thought you killed me.”

Her numb fingers nearly dropped the cocoa. She hastily set it on the bedside table. He’d seen it in her eyes, hadn’t he? What she’d almost done? “D-Don’t be ridiculous,” she stuttered. “I only kill Dark Lords.”

Madam Pomfrey spotted Sev’s open eyes and strode over briskly. She checked him over with her wand. “Wainscott? Get me a Restorative Draught.” She propped Sev up and helped him sip the potion. A little color returned to his cheeks at once. “Tell me your symptoms.”

Sev didn’t answer, instead pulling up his left sleeve. Lily caught a glimpse of a shiny patch of skin, like a long-healed burn. “It’s gone. He’s really gone.” He curled onto his side, shaking.

Lily looked away to give him privacy, focusing on Harry breathing the deep, slow breaths of a sleeping child who feels safe and well in his mother’s arms.

A few moments later, Dumbledore limped over. Moody must have seen, because he struggled out of bed and hobbled over on a crutch. (He must have lost his wooden leg in the battle too.) Sev hastily rubbed his sleeve across his eyes.

“I really must insist—”

“We’ll only be a few moments, Poppy,” Dumbledore assured her, conjuring a couple of squashy purple armchairs at the end of Sev’s bed.

“Auror business,” Moody added. “Can’t wait.”

Madam Pomfrey scowled but allowed them to draw a curtain around the bed for a private conference. Lily cast _Muffliato_.

Dumbledore fixed her with a tired but very sharp stare. “Now, tell me what happened.”

Haltingly, she described the meeting at the folly, her vantage point on the hill beside it. “Peter was kneeling at You—at _Voldemort’s_ right hand, and Sev was at his left.” There was no reason to fear saying the name anymore. He was dead. “I had a clear shot, so I took it.”

Dumbledore looked off into the distance. “And either must die at the hand of the other…”

“Beg pardon, Albus?”

Dumbledore sighed. “There is no reason to conceal it now, I suppose. There was a prophecy, you see…”

Moody’s repelled twitch reinforced Lily’s impression that those in the know considered prophecies dangerous traps.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and recited: “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...”

Sev frowned. “I suppose I… was technically ‘at’ his hand…” he said carefully, his words a little slurred, “but Lily killed him. Both times.”

“And I’m neither male nor a baby. My parents never defied V-voldemort, either.” Saying the name was easier already.

“Prophecies are tricky things,” Moody said. “When was this prophecy made? Could it have meant the seventh month after that? Or were either of you born early, or in September?”

“How would I know… in what week of gestation… I was born?” Sev asked.

“My parents said I was premature,” Lily remembered. The doctors had been worried about her lungs, so they didn’t want her running around too much. Or jumping off swings. “But even if it was by the right number of weeks, none of the rest fits.”

“Defiance might be construed in many ways,” Dumbledore said. “A marriage between a witch and a Muggle, or two Muggles producing a witch, might qualify. Who can say what actions your parents might have taken which would have angered Voldemort? Or perhaps it refers to an entire family, or even a nation. Perhaps it was the Welsh who defied him three times.” He nodded toward Lily. “And perhaps the prophecy used ‘he’ to signify a person of unspecified gender.”

“Then prophecies are sexist,” Lily said. “Sev was marked—”

Sev grimaced. “Not as an equal. Not remotely.” He stopped for breath. “And we both lived simultaneously. What does ‘neither can live… while the other survives…’ even mean?”

“Not to mention, the last line said _will be born_ , didn’t it?” Lily looked to Dumbledore for confirmation. “That doesn’t sound very ambiguous. ‘The one with the power’ can’t be anyone who’s an adult today, us included. So it’s all rubbish. Unless the Dark Lord in the prophecy isn’t Voldemort at all, I suppose.”

That struck them all silent. Now that she’d said it, Lily wondered whether the prophecy really was about another Dark Lord entirely. How could they know? She rubbed Harry’s back gently in slow circles. There was no reason other than his birthday to think it might involve him, and there must be thousands of other babies who fit the prophecy better. Or maybe the prophecy was meaningless rubbish, and as long as they didn’t try to do anything about it, nothing would happen. Harry would be safe.

“It is possible,” Dumbledore began, “that any given prophecy can come true in a number of ways… Perhaps, if things had gone differently, Voldemort would have been correct and young Harry would have become ‘the one’ who could defeat him. But since events transpired as they did, perhaps it does now refer to a different Dark Lord.”

“Like the cat in the box,” Sev muttered, eyes glazed.

“Schroedinger’s Prophecy? Oh, no,” Lily groaned. “We’re going to have to start school all over again and study Muggle physics.”

Dumbledore and Moody looked baffled, so Lily explained about the cat who was both alive and dead until someone looked in the box and it became one or the other.

“But not really. I think,” Lily said. “It’s hard to explain. Something to do with tiny particles?” She looked at Sev, who shrugged helplessly. Maybe she really should catch up on Muggle science. Muggle technology had helped save them, after all.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Moody growled. “What happened after you shot him?”

They picked up the story again, stumbling over each other’s words, Sev’s voice growing weaker, until they reached the point where Lily started tossing Horcruxes at a dementor.

“You’re telling me he made _more than one_ of those infernal things?” Moody cut in once Dumbledore explained what a Horcrux was. That required backtracking to give a brief account of their finding Voldemort’s original name through Muggle newspapers (Dumbledore didn’t volunteer his prior knowledge), how that led to “Severus’s source” (Lily didn’t volunteer Slughorn’s name or her involvement either) learning about Tom’s interest in Horcruxes, and the Horcrux-hunt that followed.

Lily stopped short. “Wait, are the artifacts still—”

“They are safely in my office,” Dumbledore reassured her. “I thought we might say that you incidentally discovered a cache of stolen relics in the course of your mission.”

“And then what?” Lily asked. “We don’t have a museum to put them in, do we?”

“Never mind that,” Moody said. His voice was so rough that he sounded like he was gargling sandpaper. “I want to know how you finished him off.”

So they finished the story, how Sev killed Peter and Voldemort tried to possess him, how Lily tossed the last Horcrux at the dementor and modified her Inferius-disanimating spell to drive Voldemort out of his body and off to wherever the last remnant of his soul was headed.

“It’s lucky the dementor came when it did, really,” she said. “Otherwise driving Voldemort out would have meant he was still anchored to this world and could try again.”

“Explain how you did it, exactly?” Moody said with interest. She ran him through the original version and her modification. It must have been her imagination that Dumbledore looked piqued not to have discovered it first.

“We’ll have to take a team to that cave of yours,” he said. “More than a few families will be wanting their loved ones returned for burial.”

Lily winced. How many Inferi had they burned? Not that they’d had much choice, but even so… “I think a lot of them were Muggles,” she said. “You’ll need to check their newspapers and other records for missing persons. I can give you a few tips, but you really should talk to some of the Muggle librarians I met.”

“We’ll see what we can do.”

“There’s something… I still don’t understand,” Sev said. “Lily, you’re sure he didn’t… miss with the Killing Curse?”

She nodded. She’d been trying not to think about that part.

“But how… is that possible?”

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. “Lily, if I may see your cloak for a moment?”

She fished it out of her pocket and handed it over reluctantly. Last time Dumbledore had taken it, they hadn’t got it back for months. James never had.

He turned it over in his hands. “How long did you say this has been in the Potter family?”

“I don’t know. Generations. Centuries, maybe.”

Moody looked at her sharply. “The charms haven’t faded? If we could figure out how to replicate that—"

“I suppose one could try,” Dumbledore said quietly. He handed the cloak back to Lily. “But I doubt that anyone living today has the skill to do so.”

“Why not?”

He took his time answering. “I believe that this cloak’s powers extend beyond mere longevity. As we learned tonight, it can… shall we say… hide its wearer from death?”

Lily didn’t understand at first. Then she didn’t believe it. Sev’s expression showed he didn’t either. “But—Death’s own cloak isn’t _real_. It’s just a children’s story!”

“I doubt that the personification of Death created it, but I do believe that the Peverell family made or acquired three powerful artifacts which we now call the Hallows. As I recall, the Potters counted Ignotus Peverell amongst their ancestors.”

If they’d had the cloak in Godric’s Hollow… if James had had it on him… no, she wasn’t ready to think about that. “So, you think the cloak is… _the_ cloak?”

“I do.”

“And the ring?” Sev asked.

Dumbledore sighed. “While we can never be certain now… yes, I think it truly was the Resurrection Stone. The Gaunt family too was descended from the Peverells, and the ring was one of only two things of value they had left—the other being Slytherin’s locket, of course.”

“So that’s it, then,” Lily said. “We destroyed a Hallow.”

“Considering its tendency to drive users to suicide, that may be for the best. The quest for the Hallows always was a foolish one. Now no power on earth will ever unite them.” He sounded wistful, but soon shook himself out of it. “We should let Severus rest, and you should be getting back to bed, Alastor.” He flicked his wand to open the curtain.

“And you should get yourself checked out,” Moody said as he pulled himself up on his crutch.

Madam Pomfrey obviously agreed, because she used the opportunity to whisk Dumbledore away for examination.

Once they were alone, Sev said, “His wand is made of elder. Had you noticed?”

She had. “He probably won it from Grindelwald in their famous duel.” And Grindelwald, as everyone knew, had been obsessed with ancient artifacts and immortality.

If Dumbledore was using the Deathstick, then was the legacy wand he’d given her his own wand from childhood? What did that mean?

“I’m leaving,” Sev blurted out.

“What? You can’t leave; you probably can’t even walk!”

“As soon as I’m able… and they get Slughorn back. Then I’m going… as far away… as I can.”

“You mean you’re leaving Britain? But why? Where will you go?”

“Anywhere… people don’t know me. I need… to get away… from all this.”

Somehow, she’d never thought of him leaving. It wasn’t that she wanted him to stay. Though her hatred had ebbed away, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to see him again after all the clearing up was done. But he’d always been around, even when they weren’t speaking, and it was hard to imagine him being gone. Too many things in her life were unstable already.

“I suppose Harry and I could use a long holiday too,” she said finally. Maybe that tropical island where Sirius had accused her of hiding out. “I don’t… Sev… good luck.”

“I… thanks. You too.”

Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey returned to check on Sev’s condition.

“And you ought to get some rest,” she told Lily. “But don’t go far. I still need to examine you once we’re sure the critical cases are stable.”

“All right. But first… is Professor Slughorn still here?”

#

Professor Slughorn had a private room, of course. She was surprised not to find it filled with flowers and boxes of candied pineapple—but then, it was probably an official secret that he was here. And he wouldn’t want anyone knowing what had happened to him. He wouldn’t want their condemnation or their pity.

“Hello, Professor,” she said, standing in the doorway.

He looked up. His expression clouded when he saw her, though he also looked confused. _His memories are almost certainly irretrievable, but some emotional impressions may remain,_ Madam Pomfrey had said. _He may react oddly to unexpected things. This is normal._

Nothing about this was normal.

“Lily, my dear. Please come in,” he said after an awkward pause. “And this must be Harry.”

“Yes. Say hello to Professor Slughorn, Harry!”

Harry buried his face in her shoulder instead. “Sorry, he’s just woken, and he’s been shy since—for the last couple of months.” She sat gingerly in a chair next to the bed. Harry put his thumb in his mouth and closed his eyes.

“Yes, I heard about James. Such a tragedy. So young. Please allow me to express my deepest condolences.”

Just like last time—only for him, there was no last time. Lily’s gut twisted. “Thank you.”

The silence stretched uncomfortably. Finally he said, “So, what brings you to visit an old man on his sickbed? You must have the Daily Prophet beating down your door.”

Lily flinched, hearing the front door slam open in her memory. _Lily, it’s him!_ She tried to focus on Slughorn’s words instead. The threat of reporters hadn’t even occurred to her. “I wanted to see if you were all right.”

Professor Slughorn fiddled with his pajama sleeve cuffs. “You know why I’m here, then.”

“Enough. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

He shuddered. “Can’t remember a thing. Just as well.” He cast a quick mending charm on a button he’d accidentally torn loose. “Albus said… that you know about Tom Riddle. About… what I told him.”

“Dumbledore hardly told me anything. Most of what I learned was from Muggle newspapers. He only gave me a few details beyond that, just enough to finish the job.” That was entirely true, too. Lily had no doubt that Dumbledore knew a lot more than he’d said.

“Good heavens. Muggle newspapers? Never would have thought. What in Merlin’s name would Muggle papers have to say about a boy who hardly lived with their kind?”

“You mean he didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“What I found was about his family. His Muggle family, I mean. His father and grandparents were all found dead around the dinner table in nineteen forty-two without a mark on them. We all know which spell that means.”

The professor looked up, appalled. “Nineteen forty-two? But that was…”

“While he was in school, yes. Dumbledore said he framed his wizard uncle for it. He stole that ring he wore at school from his uncle too.”

His mustaches quivered. “You mean… I didn’t… it wasn’t what I told him that…”

Lily didn’t grasp his meaning for a moment. Then she understood. “Professor, of course not! I don’t think there’s anything you could have said that _made_ him do what he did. He only asked you because that’s what he already wanted. In fact,” she said, the pieces falling together, “from what I understand, you hardly told him anything. He must have had other sources. Maybe he didn’t even really need to ask you.”

“Then why—oh.” His face was gray. “You think he meant to blackmail me all along?”

“Or at least wanted the option. You were one of the only people who knew enough to figure out his weakness, so he’d have wanted a way to make sure you never talked about it.” Professor Slughorn looked so forlorn lying there in the hospital bed that she felt obligated to reassure him. “But it didn’t work, Professor. You resisted. That must have taken incredible strength.”

He looked pathetically grateful. “Do you think so?”

She swallowed. “I do. And your information is the only reason we knew to look for Horcruxes, and how many. We’d never have won without your help.”

“Glad some good came out of it.” He repaired another button. “Lucky Mulciber only told the spy instead of his master about what I said, or I suppose I wouldn’t be here today.”

This was wrong. She couldn’t tell herself he was better off not knowing. That wasn’t her choice to make. “It was my fault, Professor.”

He looked baffled. “I don’t see how—”

“You didn’t tell Mulciber. I found you, and you told me. You must have had orders for what to do if anyone on their wanted list came by, because you drugged my tea. Mulciber Obliviated you all the other times, but that last time—it was me. I thought if you didn’t know anything, maybe they wouldn’t hurt you—well, more than they already had. I’m so, so sorry. I had no idea it would all go so wrong.” She said it all in a rush, looking at Harry so she wouldn’t see the professor’s face and break down before she finished.

But she had to look up eventually. He looked lost. “I take it Albus didn’t just happen by my cottage at an opportune moment, then,” he said at last. “You…?”

“I told him I’d seen you and something was wrong, that you must be under a curse. I know I should have told him everything, but I didn’t trust anyone just then and I wasn’t thinking clearly and—no, it doesn’t matter. It was wrong and I am so, so sorry.” Lily blinked back tears. She’d really done an awful thing. Harry, sensing her distress, squirmed and babbled something anxious-sounding. Lily patted his back, more to comfort herself than him.

Professor Slughorn looked at her for a long moment. “Knowing Albus, he’s probably guessed anyway,” he said. “Suppose you did what you had to. And it worked, didn’t it? I was rescued, and you killed Tom. Now we can move on and forget all this unpleasantness.” He gave her a forced, wavery smile. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

“That’s really not necessary,” she whispered.

“Don’t be absurd. No need to complicate things for the Prophet-reading masses. You’re a hero now, Lily. The brightest witch of the era, vanquisher of the most dangerous Dark Lord in a century. And a Muggle-born, too! Just think how that could change public perception of those with your background. Have you given any thought to what you’ll do next? I’m sure I could put a word in for you with the right people.”

She gulped. If giving career advice was his way of feeling in control of his life again, she wouldn’t try to argue him out of it.

“I really hadn’t, Professor. Do you have any suggestions?”

#

The cemetery was quiet but for the crunch of snow under Lily’s feet. Harry squirmed in her arms, grabbing at the drooping branches of an evergreen and dropping snow on them both. “Play?” he asked, trying to wriggle out of her arms and run off.

“Soon, sweetheart. There’s something we need to see first.”

She lingered before the other gravestones. There was Ignotus Peverell with the sign of the Deathly Hallows still visible on the ancient stone. There was an Abbott. And there—Kendra Dumbledore, died 1899, and Ariana Dumbledore, a couple of months later. _Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also._ Ariana had been just fourteen. This must be the mother and frail little sister Bathilda had mentioned. The memory of a portrait of a blonde girl over Aberforth’s fireplace rose in her mind’s eye.

She couldn’t avoid it, and Harry was restless. He deserved a long playtime after this.

The gravestone was stark and new. It looked lonely, despite being no farther from its fellows than any other. _James Potter. March 27, 1960-October 31, 1981._ There was no inscription yet. What could she say, when she’d never truly known him? What would she _want_ to say, if it were just between her and the gravestone?

So many questions she would never be able to ask him. So much she would never understand.

Lily conjured a single specimen of her namesake flower and laid it on the grave.

“Goodbye, James.”

Her feet sank heavily into the snow as she walked away. She’d felt that with Voldemort dead, somehow everything would be clear. Instead, both past and future were like puzzles half-glimpsed through the cracks in a shuttered window. Even if she miraculously learned every piece and how it fitted, she wasn’t sure that would tell her how to feel or what to do from now on.

Harry patted her face. “Mama?”

Lily realized she’d stopped walking. Harry was looking at her with an incongruously grown-up expression of concern.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to get you down,” she told him. “Why don’t I make a flower for you, too?” It had to be something safe for when he inevitably put it in his mouth. Lily thought for a moment, then conjured borage. For courage and driving away melancholy.

Harry smiled and immediately crammed it in his mouth. He giggled and made a face over the fuzzy hairs on the stem.

Lily couldn’t help smiling in return. They’d both been so close to lying beneath the snow with James, and yet here they were, alive, together. Whatever the future held, at least she had this moment: her son, laughing because he’d discovered a fuzzy flower.

“It’s going to be all right,” she told him. “We’re going to be all right. We’ll figure things out together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moody still had both eyes when Harry saw him in the Pensieve trials (between November 1981 and late 1982 or so), but we don’t know when he lost his leg. “Sometime during the war” is plausible. No matter how effective his wooden leg is as a prosthetic, it’s probably _different_ than his original leg. Not being used to it means he might, say, not dodge or turn as quickly as he used to. Hence both here and in canon (at different times, in different fights), one side of him was more vulnerable, and he lost an eye.
> 
> Besides longevity, what’s so special about the Cloak? Moody’s eye can see through it, and anyone can hex you through it. But perhaps we ought to take Beadle more literally. He didn’t say the Cloak can hide you from Death, his brother Major Bodily Harm, and their cousin Ouch That Stings. Just Death. So maybe the Cloak can block the Killing Curse—or keep you from dying, period. We just never got to see it in action, because Harry deliberately removed it when he faced Voldemort.
> 
> I think [terri_testing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/terri_testing/pseuds/terri_testing) came up with the idea that Slughorn feared his information about Horcruxes encouraged Tom down a path of corruption.
> 
> I originally had a short epilogue set three years later, but during editing, it became clear that its only real problem was that it was unnecessary. The story is boss, so out it went! Some of the ideas I came up with for it are proving useful in the sequels, though.
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone!


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